


The Light at the End of the Tunnel(s)

by Man Over Bot (Manniness)



Series: Necessary Sacrifice [4]
Category: Almost Human (TV)
Genre: Android Rights, Case Fic, Dorian becomes a target, John and Dorian hard at work, John becomes a target, M/M, Military Ops, Nobody messes with John and Dorian's team...NOBODY, On the other side of the Wall, Police investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-10 10:29:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 49,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manniness/pseuds/Man%20Over%20Bot
Summary: If John had thought that being the precinct pariah was rough, that’s nothing compared to what he faces now.  In their sudden infamy, John and Dorian and their team of DRNs become targets.This is the thanks they get for trying to bring a little law and order to the other side of the Wall.Yeah, that figures.(Continuation of “A Light That Never Goes Out”)





	1. Uncontrolled Crash

**Author's Note:**

> Just to be clear, I've selected the M/M relationship category thingie for this fic because all of the intimate scenes are between two males. I considered adding a F/M tag as well for Val and Rudy, but since we won't see them doing anything explicitly sexy or cohabiting the same personal space or whatever, I just left it off. OK, just FYI. Val is not a dude in this story. (^_^)
> 
> And a huge THANK YOU goes out to the beautiful people who took the time to leave encouraging comments on the previous fics of this series. I honestly don't know when I would have been able to finish and post this story without you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, do you remember how that episode "The Bends" kicked off with Rudy running for his life and getting shot at? Well, I took a page from that storytelling style. The first chapter of this fic happens 48 hours in the future. We'll see what leads up to these events starting with Chapter 2. And it will take a while for us to finally get to where this opening scene occurs in the timeline. (^_^)

Maybe it was the silence. The careful way the outer door opened that woke John from a fantastically warm sleep, snug in the memory-foam mattress that Dorian had requisitioned for him months ago. This bed and these walls, which provided privacy that was key to John’s sanity, were great, but they were nothing compared to Dorian’s presence -- and the heartwarming fact that Dorian had strategically positioned his charger between the outer door of the apartment and the second door that opened into John’s inner sanctum.

Usually, Dorian came and went as loudly as he pleased because not only was this his space as much as it was John’s, but John preferred to know when his partner was heading out and his lover was coming back.

That was why the soft whisper of the outer door swinging open was just… wrong.

Leaning up on his elbow, John checked his watch and glanced at the gun next to his charger. His free hand twitched toward his spare leg. The new one was still recharging and John would only need four seconds to grab and attach the spare leg leaning against the wall near the head of the bed.

Four seconds that John doubted he had as footsteps approached fast. Too fast.

John sat up, determinedly scooping up the gun and bracing himself just as--

The door burst open, slamming against the unfinished drywall hard enough for the doorknob to punch a hole in the thin building material, but John would worry about that later because--

“Stop right there!”

The advancing figure didn’t slow.

“DRN, identify yourself!”

The android didn’t say a word and, whoever this was, it sure as hell wasn’t John’s Dorian.

_ ** **Pop! Pop-pop-pop!** ** _

Four shots. Not one of them caused so much as a hitch in the DRN’s step. John scuttled back, losing time as the memory foam tried to swallow his hand up to the wrist and John needed a solid surface to brace against or he’d just be wasting bullets. He reached back toward the charger stand, sank too far to the side, missed the edge of the tabletop--

“Fuck!”

John tumbled back--

DRN hands reached for him, a fist tangling in his tank top and fingers curling in his too-long hair.

“Back off!” John barked, jerking back -- nowhere to go where was Dorian? Dorian--Dorian--Dorian--!

John brought the muzzle of the gun around -- at this range he couldn’t possibly miss! -- and DRN hands wrapped and curled around John’s skull and he remembered how effortlessly Dorian had snapped the neck of that goon at the Bishop’s lab--

“Dorian!”

And then the world twisted, barreled sideways like a train jumping the tracks. Motion blurred hard and stars exploded behind John’s eyes and he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to pull the trigger or not. All he registered was the compulsion to find and stand with--

_ ** **Dorian!** ** _

And then: darkness.


	2. Neighborly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: reference to human trafficking and child abuse (molestation)

_ ** **Forty-eight hours earlier…** ** _

* * *

“Marjorie, I’m not asking you to pay taxes--”

“Good,” the tough-as-shoe-leather, self-proclaimed Marxist retorted, “because that’ll happen on a cold day in Hell.”

John made a mental note to introduce her and her community of anti-government outcasts to the legend of the Ragnarok. “--but if I don’t get some cooperation here, you know what happens next: the US Army gets kind of upset when smoke bombs go off in the general vicinity of their troops and convoys. Your people looking forward to detainment and interrogation?”

“Your threats don’t scare us.”

_****T********he lady doth protest too much.****_ “Uh-huh.” Nodding toward the gawking bystanders, John proposed, “Why not put it to a vote?” In their eagerness to disprove Thomas Hobbes, they were open to that, right? But from what John had seen down here over the past months, life outside of government was indeed nasty, brutish, and short. There were a thousand-and-one ways for this cluster of refugees to buy the farm. Their “brave” endeavor and social experiment lost to history. The way John saw it, cooperating with him was a survival shoe-in. But of course these whackadoos were hell-bent on doing things the hard way.

“Unless you’re one of us, you don’t get a say in how we make decisions, fuzz.”

Fuzz. One of John’s many nicknames over here on this side of the Wall. How they’d found out about his background as a cop, he wasn’t entirely sure. This was why he’d specifically told his team of DRNs to call him Kennex and not Detective. So, yeah. John had been -- was still -- a little peeved about word getting out just weeks into what was looking more and more like a never-ending assignment.

“Good. Great. Fantastic. You good people deliberate however you want. Maybe keep it to a dull roar, though. It’s a school night.”

Marjorie scowled even harder.

John then signaled for his team of on-duty DRNs to withdraw. The MXs maintained formation while the human soldiers began a systematic retreat. Dorian hovered at John’s side as they left empty-handed. Or so it was intended to appear. It was all part of the strategy John had insisted on when the officer-in-charge had been gunning for a full-on assault.

“Give them a chance to cooperate,” John had finagled because the commander didn’t have to worry about who he pissed off in his search for justice. John, on the other hand, was stuck here with these people. And they did grudges just as formidably as any gang.

So John had ventured into their settlement and thrown down the gauntlet. The countdown was underway.

The teams made it through the maze of narrow, post-Wall excavated tunnels back to the city-funded, concrete-reinforced thoroughfare before they were hailed by a shrill whistle. Just like last time. Although, last time, it had been Marjorie initiating a private meeting to cooperate. Looked like the community was taking turns attempting to manage John.

This time, Jett Franks had drawn the short straw.

“Kennex!” he called out, squinting into the light beams that the team trained on him. “I’m unarmed.”

The man lifted his arms and John gestured for two MXs to do the honors and scan for weapons, explosives, or any other unpleasant surprises. It had been a long week and John just wasn’t feeling up for dealing with homemade gas grenades or jury-rigged crossbows.

As fun as those had been.

“All clear,” one MX reported and John figured that was his cue to say something.

“Franks. How’s it going? You feel like telling me why the mechanism used to detonate a smoke bomb during a caravan transport traces back to your little corner of Utopia?”

“Traces back, eh?” the man muttered, eyeing Dorian with resentment. 

John put out a hand. “Hey, I’m not blaming you personally -- don’t single out one of my robots. So. What’s the deal?”

Franks shifted on his feet and did them both a favor by speaking up and talking fast: “I don’t know what your robots told you -- no one in our group was involved in that.”

“But you didn’t take the secret bat cave exit to tell me the same thing Marjorie just announced in front of your intrepid homesteader anarchists.”

“We’re against government control of our daily lives, not community and cooperation.”

“Right.”

“But not every pioneer agrees with our philosophy,” Franks felt compelled to point out.

John nodded. This was the part where one of the village elders served up a troublemaker on a silver platter. “Got a name and affiliation for me?”

“Resch Ludding. Don’t know where he is now. The community forced him out when…”

“Please, don’t stop now. This is just getting good.”

Franks glared and bit out, “When we learned that his daughter had been acquired in trade.”

“Trade,” John echoed. “As in--”

“As in a transaction. Ludding’s got a talent for scraping together custom water distillation units. Whipped one up in exchange for a little girl whose parents had too many mouths to feed already. When he dared to cross into our territory, he told us she was his daughter. Walls are thin -- it became clear pretty quickly that the relationship was not a paternal one.”

John bit back as much rage as he could. Not just fury at this one sick fuck, either, but that this kind of transaction had happened at all. No wonder parents made attempt after attempt on the Wall with kids in tow. No one should have to make the choice between dangerously unsanitary living conditions and being able to provide clean water to all but one of their children.

“Where’s the girl?” John asked.

“Marjorie took her in when we kicked him out.”

Yeah, OK. Now it made sense for a humiliated and accused man to use items he’d scavenged in his former neighbors’ territory. Especially if he was aware of the presence of John’s androids. Androids would be able to track the trace elements from the bomb back to the community that had ousted him. And when John followed up on that lead, he might just encounter resistance. If so, the community would be obliterated. If the girl survived, she’d be unprotected. Ludding would get revenge and get the girl. Two birds, one stone.

Of course, Franks could be talking out his ass and all this was pure bullshit. There really was no way to know for sure. Unless the community really did come under fire and Ludding was lurking nearby, hoping to track down his wayward “daughter.”

God damn it.

“I’m not detecting any indication of deception, John,” Dorian quietly volunteered as they trekked back to the hub.

“Yeah.” John sighed heavily. “Me, neither.”

And John had so been looking forward to finally being able to enjoy his day off tomorrow, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ragnarok is from Norse lore. The gods battle it out one final time and the world freezes solid and it's pretty much hellish and pure misery.
> 
> Thomas Hobbes was a philosopher who argued that human society cannot function without some kind of authority to keep everyone in line. If I remember correctly, his views are pretty harsh. Not at all warm-and-fuzzy type stuff.


	3. Curse of Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: reference to vigilante justice

The raid on the community went down in the middle of the morning because John hadn’t been kidding around about it being a school day. Well, no more than usual, anyway. So while the children were safe at school and being taught how to read and write and compare opposing political philosophies by their DRN instructors (and under the watchful eagle-eye of trusted members of the nearby hodgepodge of settled communities), John led the “assault” on their homes and parents’ workshops.

The entire tunnel settlement that was home to Marjorie and Franks and dozens of others was transformed into a prison, its people pried from their shacks and rounded up like detainees, without a single shot being fired. Either these folks were really that unprepared or they hated Resch Ludding that much. One thing was for sure, there was no point in arresting anyone: John didn’t have a jail to throw them in or a court to hear their case or even a prison to hold them.

Yeah, John had realized pretty quickly that most crimes committed here on this side of the Wall would have to be resolved here. Street justice. Or rather, _****tunnel****_ justice. Because perps who preyed on the defenseless didn’t deserve state-funded health care and three square meals a day while their victims were left to struggle and scrape by.

So while the soldiers and MXs on loan from the army reserves locked down the tunnel town, John and Dorian focused on staking out the school, which had been set up almost two months ago at a crossroads, serving three distinct, underground clusters of homesteaders determined to make it without the government getting up in their business.

Hah. Yeah. John almost wished them luck. Just for the hell of it.

“You know,” Dorian said as they waited and watched from the guard post, “this isn’t all that different from our other stakeouts. Back in the day.”

“Oh, really?” John drawled. “Is it the comfy seats?” He knocked a fist against their canvas and aluminum-alloy camp stools.

Dorian chuckled silently. “You’re still the one behind the wheel.”

That was true. Had they been inside the cruiser, John would be in the driver’s seat and Dorian riding shotgun. “I was the officer-in-charge. I had to be there,” John replied.

Dorian nodded. “One day, I might be able to share that responsibility.”

John glanced over. “Are you sure you want to?”

“What do you mean?”

John tilted his head away, scanning the tunnels in flickering florescent light. “Don’t tell me you haven’t done the math, man.” But Dorian’s expectant frown didn’t lift. “Look,” John breathed, “DRN maintenance and upgrades aren’t cheap. Right now, the department takes care of all that. If the courts decide the DRNs are--if they decide…” John shook his head, unsure of how to phrase a manipulation so terrible and insidious that it gave John as many nightmares as the InSyndicate raid.

“If they rule in favor of giving DRNs personal rights and liberties,” Dorian supplied.

“But are they, though? Doing you a favor if that happens?” John held up a hand to forestall Dorian’s rebuttal. “Say you get a salary -- say they even pay you the same as a detective. Dorian, I’ve seen Rudy’s purchase orders. I’ve seen the bill he sends Maldonado after you’ve been patched up. I can’t afford that. You wouldn’t be able to, either.”

“But Rudy’s my friend. I’m sure he wouldn’t charge more than I could afford to pay.”

“Yeah. Rudy’s a friend. _****Your****_ friend. What about the other DRNs? The ones who aren’t even programmed to be cops? Is Rudy gonna give them the friends-and-family discount, too? And even if he does, how often can Forney afford upgrades and whatever on his janitorial wages? What about rent? Electricity for his charger? Those things add up, D.”

“What are you saying, John?”

“I’m saying -- even if the DRNs become people in the eyes of the law, unless you’ve got a plan for your future -- this could be just another, slower way to get rid of you guys.” John shrugged. “Eventually, a bill comes due that you can’t pay, and it’s game over.”

“You don’t have much confidence in our ingenuity.”

“Hey. I see ingenuity all over the place. Just look around.” John gestured to the surrounding tunnel system.

“That’s not exactly encouraging.”

John hadn’t meant for it to be; ninety percent of human ingenuity happened outside of legal channels. “These people chose freedom over security.”

Dorian blinked. “You’re worried about me?”

“Jesus--what kind of question is--” John wished himself behind the wheel of the cruiser. What he wouldn’t give to have something grounding to hold onto. A little control over his own life -- was that so much to ask for?

A soft poke against John’s shoulder -- Dorian gently pinching John’s thermal windbreaker between his fingertips and calling John’s gaze back.

“I’d still choose to be your partner,” Dorian vowed and John reached out, palming his partner’s neck.

“Don’t--don’t make me that promise, D.”

Dorian smiled. “The fact that you’d encourage me to live for myself -- not exactly lessening my faith in you, man.”

“Ah, shut it.” John shoved at the DRN playfully and Dorian swayed on his camp chair, cute grin firmly in place.

Movement from the shadowy depths of the far tunnel. John checked his watch. The day’s lessons were wrapping up. “Here we go,” he muttered and braced himself.

In ones and twos, parents arrived to collect their children. Initially, the kids were led home, but as the minutes passed and no one from Marjorie’s group showed up, a crowd of confused parents and children formed around the small, flimsy structure. These people might argue over the fine details of resisting government control, but they knew one another. They traded goods and services -- even more so now that the restrictive choke hold of a gang had disappeared.

The DRNs on school house duty -- Sven, Mark, and Pierre -- did their best to placate everyone, but John knew that would only last so long.

Just as voices were being raised and speculation becoming even more wild, a man unobtrusively guided one of the girls away from the group. The man’s head was bent low, lips at her ear. Sure, he could have been a concerned father asking about his kid’s day. But the girl moved stiffly beneath the wiry arm thrown over her shoulders, head down and hands clenched into bloodless fists. A child in duress.

“D?” John prompted and Dorian immediately contacted the DRN closest to the skulking figure.

It was over in less than sixty seconds.

Resch Ludding was in custody: they’d found the man purportedly responsible for the attack on the convoy and the girl was safe. The siege was recalled from the community. All in a day’s work.

Except now John had a detainee to deal with. Wonderful. There went the rest of his evening. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Rubbed his eyes. Yeah, all he had to do was click his heels together three times and wish himself at a noodle bar.

“C’mon, man.” Dorian smacked John’s arm. “First one who catches him in a lie wins.”

“Wins what?” John’s interest was piqued despite his weariness.

Dorian shook his head, eyes sparkling. “He wins. Need I say more?”

John had to laugh because, yeah. Dorian knew him too well. “OK, D. Let’s do this.” 


	4. John's Other Job

The evidence against Ludding was circumstantial, so John figured that earned him a choice:

“Either you give us some verifiable details on the army convoy attack, or we deliver you to Marjorie and her friends.” Either way, Ludding wouldn’t be John’s problem anymore. It wasn’t pretty, but John had been tasked with eliminating threats to the city -- dissolving gangs and tearing apart terrorist cells, and due process just wasn’t an option in a lawless place like this. In fact, had Ludding opted to target one of the communities down here directly, John would have only been tangentially involved -- if only because escalation would lead to more injuries and the supplies were already short of meeting demand.

Unsurprisingly, Ludding decided to take his chances with the US Army. John walked away grinning: while he and Dorian generally got results, they couldn’t spend all day wringing information from detainees. Whereas the army had, well, _****an army****_ of interrogators who specialized in it.

“He’s all yours,” John told the officer-in-charge, who smirked.

“We’ll get the database updated asap.”

“Yeah, thanks.” John had a hunch that Ludding would sing like a canary. More data on the people, activities, and layout down here was always welcome. “Looking forward to it. Your people pulling out on schedule?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Great. Thanks for your help, sir.”

With a salute, the commander got on with his duties, leaving John a moment to take a much-appreciated breath. He turned to Dorian to suggest they check in with their team and then hopefully see about dinner--

But Dorian was already saying, “John, Captain Maldonado is requesting to speak to you.”

“What. Now? It can’t be that time already.” But without windows and daylight to go by, it was entirely possible that it was That Time. Before he could glance at his watch, Dorian added, “She is a little ahead of schedule.”

But not by much. John shook his head ruefully. “No wonder I’m hungry enough to eat a slug.”

Dorian grinned at the memory and John patted his shoulder in passing. “To the comms, D.”

Dorian didn’t argue that it would be a more efficient use of their time if John took the call alone while Dorian prepared his dinner. Not since the first time he’d offered:

“I can listen in remotely, John,” Dorian had pointed out months ago. “If the on-duty DRN is there, he can patch me through.”

“Yeah, I get that, but you’re not my butler. You’re my partner. And it’s not as if we’ve got a busy social calendar. Besides,” John had added because if he didn’t Dorian’s charmed grin would get totally out of control, “I don’t trust you not to throw in a couple of cockroaches just for kicks.”

“Many insects are very good sources of protein--”

“Right. That’s it. Never leaving you alone with my food again.”

Just one more reason for why John herded Dorian toward the comms station whenever Sandra called. Not that John needed another. Mostly, he didn’t want Dorian to have to rely on one of the other DRNs -- whoever happened to be stationed at the computer -- to plug him in. There was no reason for Dorian not to be as self-sufficient as possible. Especially in light of the little chat they’d just had about what a joy it was to shoulder the full weight of responsibilities all on one’s own.

“Hey, Captain,” John greeted, sliding into a chair. Dorian stood, as usual. John would have been right there next to him, except the wireless headset was tetchy about being more than an arm’s length from the receiver.

“Another busy day?”

“Yeah. Looks like we’ve got the perp from yesterday’s attack in custody.”

“Glad to hear it. I’m sending a care package with this next delivery.”

“Not more DRNs,” John pleaded, hands out despite the wonky angle of the patched-in and hot-wired video camera. Made him look like he was gesturing at an invisible friend.

Illusions of delusions aside, they’d had a hell of a time figuring out how to accommodate Forney’s group and then the additional thirteen DRNs that had been lugged over the threshold in dribs and drabs as more and more institutions caved under the pressure of public scrutiny. Either companies weren’t doing enough to protect the public from the possibility of their androids going rogue, or they were being lambasted with accusations of slavery. What an exciting time it was to own a DRN -- or be a DRN -- in America right now.

John now had a total of twenty-four DRNs on his team, which made charging cycles a snap. Shifts were staggered so that everyone had a chance to get a full charge, even though they had to make do with jury-rigged MX pods. The DRN facility was still off-limits, awaiting inspection and assessment. But there was one thing that hardware couldn’t address: playing counselor to twenty-four dudes who had issues on top of issues with military protocol was pretty much John’s other job. If the city was sending more emoting androids his way, then John was going to demand that at least one of them be programmed to act as a shrink.

“No DRNs this time,” Sandra promised and John let out a breath in relief. Dorian’s laser-like gaze burned into him, and hell yeah John was going to get the third degree just as soon as the captain signed off, but for now John relished the chance to ignore Dorian’s questions as blithely as possible.

“So I can expect a bottle of bourbon and that doughnut machine we talked about?” John joked, winking at Dorian.

“More like a pack of instant noodles and an extra pair of tube socks,” she teased with a gamin sparkle in her eyes.

“Hey, wouldn’t say no to those,” John replied, smiling and smacking Dorian’s elbow companionably.

“Yes. A fresh pair of socks might be welcome when you inevitably stick your foot in your mouth, John.”

Sandra snickered and John affected an injured pose. “Wow. That hurt.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not sound advice,” Captain Maldonado noted and John threw both hands in the air.

“If you’re both going to gang up on me, then I’m bugging out.”

“Have a good night, John. Dorian.” And then Sandra was gone and John braced his hands on his hips, legs stretched out and splayed. Inviting.

“Well? Lemme have it.” John gestured for Dorian to open fire.

Dorian stared at him for a moment. A moment during which a human lover would have exhaled long and with profound disappointment. He finally murmured, “No more DRNs, John?”

“D, there’s only one of me.”

Dorian nodded. “You’re right. It’s unfair of anyone to expect you to spend two minutes of your time with each of your team members following assignment. What was I thinking?”

John lurched forward, planting his feet and angling his chin to mirror Dorian’s, he replied, “Well, let’s think about this -- I’ve got no qualifications in psychology or robotics and here I am.” Flapping his arms wide, John added, probably unnecessarily, “What am I supposed to do if someone freaks out? I didn’t give them enough time or enough advice which -- by the way -- according to you, I could be better at. I’m just trying not to drop the ball.”

Dorian tucked his chin down. “I’m sorry, John.”

“No, look, don’t say sorry, OK? If you don’t push me, I get complacent. So you tell me if you honestly think I need to give more.”

“No, John,” Dorian murmured, stepping forward and leaning down to press his palms to John’s shoulders. “I just wish…”

“Wish we could save them all?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” John agreed, recalling what he’d said not six months ago about the people who found a way over the Wall: _****“We can’t save the ones from over the Wall. Not today anyway.”**** _ And now here they were, on the other side of the Wall, and their hands were just as tied.

Not fucking fair.

Standing, John huffed and blustered, “You know what? Never mind. I gotta eat.”

Momentum carried him into the cafeteria where he snagged an MRE and then plopped himself down at the too-silent table where nine DRNs were sitting, conversing with each other via their wireless network. Yes, Dorian was probably in the loop and he’d tell John if anything urgent came up, but John still hated being left out of the need-to-know campfire.

“Hey, guys. Mark, Sven, Pierre, good job today.”

There was a moment of strained silence and then Pierre said, “I’ve been that girl’s teacher for almost five weeks, man. How could I have not known?”

John’s brows hitched and pinched, half with sympathy and half with reproach. “You don’t read minds, do you?”

Sometimes these DRNs were so like Dorian than John was hard pressed not to call them brothers. Times like now: “But I didn’t even know something could be wrong. I…”

“Look,” John said, slicing the blade of his hand through the air, “there are things we bury so deep -- things we think will just eventually go away or things we think we’re not strong enough to deal with.” He waved a fork at his band of not-so-merry men. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t bother you -- what comes next. Wondering if you’ll go back someday, what the world will be like over there. If it’ll be the same one you left. Nobody can see that on your face.”

“But you do see it,” MacKenzie accused.

“Yeah,” John concurred. “Because I look for it.”

“You know,” Mark mused, “with a line like that, you’re only gonna make us wonder about your secrets, man.”

“Duct tape,” John muttered and promptly tucked in. Not tasting his meal because, yeah, the only mystery was why it had taken so long for these supposed cop-bots to figure out that John wasn’t here because he was some kind of superstar. He was exiled, the same as them. For Dorian’s sake, he hoped nobody ever figured out why.


	5. Affirmation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sexytimes

“Are you angry with me?” Dorian asked, watching John plop down on the edge of the bed and start clawing at his bootlaces.

“I don’t know, Dorian. Do you think I should be?”

Closing the door behind him, the DRN knelt and nudged John’s fingers away, freeing up his hands for digging out the depleted and wrinkled pack of sanitary body wipes from the shelf along the head of the mattress. “I think you need rest,” Dorian assessed. “It’s been sixteen days since you’ve had a day off.”

John’s mouth quirked. He glanced up and accepted the apology Dorian wasn’t saying, “Only sixteen days? You sure?”

“Unlike some, I can count beyond my fingers.”

“Yeah, and you can sass yourself into sleeping on the floor, too.”

Dorian watched John pull his tangled bundle of vest, sweater, and undershirt over his head and fumble for a body wipe. “I don’t sleep.”

“And my abacus is just fine.” John tapped his own temple. “All beads accounted for.”

Dorian dropped his chin to his chest. “Your puns are killing me, man.”

“Yeah. You’re laughing on the inside.”

“And now you’re hearing things.”

“Ah, so you admit you are laughing--” John deduced just as Dorian concluded, “That’s a bad sign.”

Before their murmurings devolved into two separate and incomprehensible conversations, John tossed the used body wipe in the direction of the garbage bag in the far corner and swooped down for a kiss. An unexpectedly enthusiastic kiss. John grunted as his back hit the memory foam, Dorian caging him against the mattress.

The pack of wipes crinkled under John’s elbow as he smoothed one palm down Dorian’s arm. The other hand was doodling patterns against the android’s left ear lobe. The fateful point of contact that had started it all.

“I miss you,” Dorian murmured against John’s lips and God did John understand. Despite all the precautions they’d taken to ensure their privacy, there’d been no encore of that last night together in John’s apartment. Or a return favor. Mostly because John couldn’t let his guard down here with so many androids and their enhanced senses on standby. Also, at any moment, John could be yanked out of bed to deal with some crisis or other. Plus, no hot showers.

_****I miss you, too, ****_John didn’t make things worse by saying. _****I’m sorry,****_ he didn’t insincerely apologize. Dorian was alive. He was alive and not decommissioned, not dismantled, not scrapped for parts and John could and would deal with whatever else crossed his path except that.

“C’mere,” John rumbled, tugging Dorian down and rolling himself on top. He’d only managed half of his “bath” but what took greater priority right this moment was wiping the sorrow from his lover’s expression and replacing it with joy.

He plucked the fastenings on Dorian’s tactical vest loose, nosing along the android’s neck and following the familiar scent of the deodorant wipes. “Smells like someone freshened up beforehand,” he noted.

“Yeah, man. Just not in the mood to hear you complain.”

“Com--complain!” John huffed. “You love it when I play hard to get.”

“You love playing hard to get.”

That was true. John reared back, but Dorian’s grasp on his waist and nape kept him from going very far. “For you, I’ll be easy. What do you want, D?”

“Just you.”

John grinned against the curve of Dorian’s lips. “You’re in luck. I’m all yours.”

Strong, android fingers combed through John’s hair and tugged. Gently. “Why do you always have to have the last word?”

“Mrphrrr,” John garbled against Dorian’s chest as he nosed and nuzzled along a perfect collarbone. Dorian laughed and John licked at a seemingly random spot, but the tiny, needy sound Dorian made in the back of his throat proved John was right on target.

God how he loved this. Loved the intimate knowledge of his lover’s body. Loved the satisfaction of rediscovering each quirk and thrill. Loved the affirmation that radiated between them with every caress and nip.

Curving his torso over Dorian’s arching form, John braced an elbow on the mattress and began charting the DRN’s jaw with brief licks, his free hand working their belts and trousers undone. Dorian wiggled and shifted, fabric sliding over hips and warm flesh making contact.

John’s hand on Dorian. Dorian’s on him. It had taken a bit of practice to learn the strokes that felt good without the slick assistance of lotion. Yeah, they’d figured it out. Made it work. And it was work, but it was worth it -- so worth it -- to watch Dorian bite down on his lip, hear the soft nasal exhale -- _****hnnnng…!****_ \-- that made John’s breath catch, feel his body jerk helplessly in the loop of pleasure-need-_****more-more-more!****_ sweeping John up in the current and all he could do was ride along and ride it out. No beginning, no end, just the rush of release and Dorian.

Wrung out and panting, John lowered his forehead to Dorian’s shoulder. Grinned. A delirious giggle tickled John’s chest, but he managed to keep from guffawing out loud.

“I’ve decided,” John said, the movements of his lips brushing Dorian’s skin.

“Hm?”

Fingertips danced along John’s arms. “I am angry at you. Very angry. I used to have the market cornered on morose and malcontent, and now?” John sighed. “I may never forgive you.”

Dorian shifted, somehow hooking a leg over John’s prosthetic and bringing their bodies into an even more perfect alignment. “Never is a long time.”

“Yeah,” John agreed.

“I can live with that.”

Smiling, John squiggled closer. “Yeah.” Because really what it all came down to was that Dorian _****lived.**** _


	6. Familiar Faces

Care package. Yeah, that was the euphemism of the day, John supposed, grinning in bemusement as two familiar faces separated from the ranks.

“Val! Rudy!” Dorian exclaimed, hurrying forward to scoop the beaming roboticist up in a hug.

“He’s not operating on a low charge,” John heard himself say as he restricted himself to a more sedate approach. He figured he might as well nip on-coming accusations in the bud. “Just really happy to see you. Hey, Val.” John tapped her shoulder in greeting and she showily slugged him in the arm.

“John. Little hard to find this place.”

“That’s the way we like it,” he replied, playing along. “What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“You, of course. Don’t you tune in? You and Dorian are household names.”

“What?” John huffed.

“She’s right. You’re both on every channel,” Rudy concurred, awkwardly patting Dorian’s arm. “But as lovely as it is to see you both again, we do have work to be getting on with.”

“Well, Rudy does,” Val clarified with a nod in the man’s direction. Dorian was just letting the poor guy settle back on his feet and John had to laugh at the figure Rudy cut in tactical gear. Pleased as punch to be trussed up for the front lines.

John extended a hand. “Rudy,” he said.

“Hi, John. Looking well.”

“And you look ready for war. What’s up?”

“Right, yes. Um. Is there somewhere secure? The details of my assignment are rather… sensitive.” And Rudy was loving every minute of it, too.

“Sure, sure. Uh, D, you wanna set that up and see about some accommodations? I need to check in with the officer-in-charge.”

“Yes. Absolutely. Right this way, my friends.”

Dorian was practically bouncing with each step as he ushered Val and Rudy deeper into the hub and, as glad as John was to see them and as much as he was enjoying Dorian’s ear-to-ear grin, he had the feeling that their arrival didn’t herald good news. And that wasn’t just jealousy talking because yeah, OK, maybe John enjoyed being the one-and-only-one who could make Dorian glow with happiness, but Sandra had kept their visitors’ identities a secret and John was well aware that Captain Maldonado had a reason for every action, every word. It was what she hadn’t said that was cluing John in here. Because Rudy had been right last December when he’d stood over the forensically immaculate body of a teenage runaway and said, “Sometimes the absence of something is everything.”

So John went through the motions of welcoming the newly arrived officers, pointing out the various facilities before leaving them to settle the troops in. They’d been briefed on what to expect before rolling out -- some had probably even been here before, a few supply convoys ago -- so there wasn’t much in the way of news for John to give them. Unless another attack happened between now and the raid scheduled for right after dinner. Dinner and boom-boom theater. Yeah, John sure knew how to show folks a good time.

“Knock on wood,” John groused, striding for the comms station where Dorian had probably escorted Rudy and Val. He thumped the edge of a crate in passing, but it was resin, not wood. “That figures.” Because yeah, right when John could use some luck, that would be the one thing that hadn’t arrived alongside the ammo and MREs. Fantastic.

“OK,” John said, announcing himself to the little party, “what’s going on here?”

Val and Rudy looked up from the terminal where Dorian was helping them navigate through the ever-evolving maps of the tunnel system, getting them oriented for whatever objectives they’d been assigned.

Val waited until the door closed behind John to say, “The cover story is that I’m here to protect Rudy.”

“And I have come all this way for a legitimate reason,” he insisted. Gesturing to Dorian, he listed, “Diagnostics and repairs for the DRNs, of course. And also, Vaughn’s lab; the DRN facility down here -- I need to clear it for use.”

John nodded. “Right. Could be booby trapped.” Before anyone said too much about executable files and organic memories, John nodded for Val to go on. “So you’re really here…”

“In pursuit of a suspect.” She passed John a tablet, its screen clustered with layers of photos and pending charges and suspected resources. John squinted from the tech-enhanced photo to the original, drone-captured image and then back. He didn’t bother stating the obvious before Val did it for him: “It’s not much to go on.”

“Uh-huh.”

“We think his name is Albertus Meade, a low-level contract killer who has ties to InSyndicate--”

“Who was the target?”

“The hit was unsuccessful, so we have eye witness statements. Drone footage indicates he crossed the Wall. We just don’t know how.”

“Right,” John mused, processing. “Well, if watch command didn’t pick up anything, that limits your perp’s options.” Looking at Dorian, John suggested, “Power lines?”

Dorian agreed, “A likely place to start. I’m running our facial recognition program through available surveillance footage but it could take a while to generate any likely matches.”

As he spoke, Dorian brought up the sections of subway tunnel that had been cracked open like an eggshell so that enterprising outlaws could get to the supposedly inoperable power nodes scattered throughout the abandoned neighborhoods. Yeah, the power company may have thought it had shut down service to these areas, but Sandra had shared the results of their investigation: a virus in the power company’s network had concealed the rerouted electricity. Digital forensics was still attempting to track its implementation date and point of insertion.

In the meantime, the power company kept on feeding the lines because John wasn’t ready for the people down here to realize that their precious power could be shut off with a push of a button. Nope, John was saving that fun surprise for when he really needed it. The longer he could put it off, the more he could learn about power consumption in these tunnels. Population clusters, manufacturing centers, and so forth.

Most of the heavy power drains had been investigated by recon teams and determined to be farming co-ops. But every once in a while, John would request another look, just for confirmation. Today’s scheduled raid was happening precisely because John had ordered another assessment: sometime over the last four weeks, one of InSyndicate’s lesser rivals had moved in, taken over the water distillation, food production, and power conduit of a settlement not unlike Marjorie and Franks’.

John had promised these people he’d deal with the bullies, so that was what he was gonna do.

“D and I have an op this evening. It’d be a good chance for you to take some DRNs and MXs, have a look around the area near where you think the perp crossed over.” John waved a hand at the screen. “We monitor where the gangs once spliced into the underground cables and those we make no secret about controlling--” John indicated the thin spiderweb of green lines on the monitor. “-- but we don’t let on that we’re aware of new wires any more than we absolutely have to.”

“Right,” Val assessed with approval. “Make them think they’re a step ahead.”

“Yeah.” And in order to keep the dream alive, Val should schedule recon while John was very conspicuously shaking the tree elsewhere. The illusion of sneaky self-sufficiency needed to continue because John wasn’t equipped to start running down all the interesting and inventive methods these underground gangs and homesteaders would happily employ in order to evade detection.

But John couldn’t rule out the possibility that the folks here were just going with the flow, fully aware that John could chart their power usage and shut it down. Maybe, like John, they were buying time in order to prepare for the next level. “So far, everyone’s playing nice. Mostly.” 

“It’s like holo-chess with a Machiavellian twist,” Rudy breathed.

Dorian nodded. “An apt description.”

“Hey, D. You get Val up to speed?” John turned to Rudy. “If you want to start on those diagnostics here--”

“Yes, absolutely. Where can I set up my field lab?”

John led Rudy next door, knocking once before pushing his way into the communal apartment built by the first six DRNs who had been assigned to their team and shared among all two dozen. There still wasn’t any furniture in the common area, which would hopefully make it easier for Rudy to set up his gear.

“Well, it’s a bit bland,” Rudy remarked, gazing at the unpainted drywall. “But miles better than what’s provided for MXs.”

John’s lips quirked. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” He nodded for Rudy to follow him over to the second door on the left. It was slightly ajar, indicating that there was a DRN within and he was cool with visitors dropping by. John checked his watch and did the math, coming up with a likely candidate for who was using the charger at the moment. “Goku, got someone here for you to meet.”

The door swung open and Rudy gaped, gawked, and goggled from the curious expression on the android’s face to the colors that swallowed up the drab walls behind him.

“Still working on the Eiffel Tower?” John asked conversationally.

“Nah, man. Gonna need more brown and purple. Now I’m making Glacier Bay.”

“Cool,” John punned and then, when nobody clocked it, rolled his eyes and drawled, “Goku, this is Doctor Lom. He’s here to give all you guys a check-up.”

“Oh, sweet. Doctor Lom, it’s a pleasure to meet an expert. Field repairs can only do so much, you know?”

“Yes, quite, call me Rudy -- this isn’t paint, is it? Some sort of collage work?” Rudy asked, enthralled with the mural that was in-progress. He bent close to a rendition of the Statue of Liberty but didn’t touch the image itself.

“Sure is, man,” Goku answered, beaming. “Bits of scraps and things. Mostly from MRE labels and packaging. It’s got adhesive, yeah? So with a little recycled water, it sticks right to drywall.”

“Amazing. Really spectacular,” Rudy appraised, stepping back and turning in a circle to take everything in.

John supposed it was better than drywall at least, but up close it was kinda like those paintings that looked like someone had barfed on the Tilt-o-Whirl.

“Were you employed in art restoration before this by any chance?”

“I was!”

“Well, it shows. Well done.”

“Hey, someone here?” another DRN voice called out and John turned around, frowning lightly at Forney.

“What are you up to?”

Bouncing the tool pack in his hand, Forney shrugged. “I had a thought about how to boost the charging efficiency of these adapted MX pods. Gonna test it out on Bob’s. He volunteered.”

“Sounds great. Why don’t you give Doctor Lom a hand first so he can boost your efficiency?”

So while Rudy was directing his impromptu team through equipment setup, John figured he’d better check in with Dorian. There was still lots to do before the big event tonight.


	7. Breach

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: reference to attacks on civilian communities, reference to kidnapping and possible brainwashing of children

The target location was quiet.

That was the thing about being underground; unless there was a train roaring past or a mining drill grinding away, it was quiet. As quiet as death. There was no wind, no inhale or exhale. And on this side of the Wall, there was no artificial heartbeat of an electric city. No murmuring pulse of passersby. Just the silence of catacombs.

The only thing John found more unnervingly irritating than the silence of these tunnels, was the silence of their residents. Why no one had mentioned the plight of these people to John, he could only speculate and he didn’t care for any of the possibilities that came to mind.

“The entire community has been decimated,” Dorian reported with dismay and John didn’t envy him the precision of his scanners.

“Any survivors?” John checked, nodding toward the shambles of shacks and heaps of junk that might have been something recognizable a few days ago.

“No. None.”

“How about the target?” An agricultural complex that looked capable of surviving everything from bullet holes to flames. How had the gang managed to snag themselves such a fortress? John could only come up with one scenario: they’d had someone on the inside.

“I can identify at least ten heat signatures, but they’re too indistinct for me to be sure except... it’s possible several of them are children.”

“Kids. Like, little kids?” John asked and Dorian nodded with a banked fury smoldering in his eyes that John was feeling real hard in his bones right now. Of course little kids. Worker hands that couldn’t fight back. Impressionable minds that would eventually be molded to serve the cause, whatever crackpot bullshit this gang was spouting. John had heard it all and he was done with it.

John listened, jaw clenched tight, as Dorian updated the teams on what he’d detected and requested additional scans for confirmation.

As they waited for the MXs to secure optimal positioning for taking more thorough readings, John asked, “Anything from Val?”

“They’ve passed the 102C juncture. All clear so far.”

So far. It was mind-boggling how those two little words could inspire so much dread.

“Wait.” Dorian’s hand shot out and curled around John’s bicep. “I’m detecting three -- no, five -- people approaching.”

“Who’s closest to intercept?”

“We are.”

Fantastic. “OK, let’s pull back and sort these assholes out.”

“Updating the teams,” Dorian murmured.

Crouching through the shadows with weapon at the ready, John followed Dorian’s lead toward the party-crashers. Hunched in the shadows behind a jumble of what might have been some sort of workshop, John waited for a cue from Dorian, who was completely and utterly focused ahead. John was suddenly struck by the strangeness of not seeing blue processing lights zipping beneath Dorian’s cheek. Even after all this time, John wasn’t used to it. It was like a part of Dorian was missing and John wanted it back. Too bad it would turn them into glow-in-the-dark targets. Literally.

“I’m not seeing any firearms, John.”

“Cocky bastards, aren’t they.” Walking in like they owned the place. Well, maybe they once had…

“They have metal pipes and I’m reading heightened adrenaline levels. Agitated movements indicate anger. These could be former residents.”

Intending to take on the people who had obliterated their homes and terrorized their families. Yeah. John had clocked that, too.

“Great.” John summed up. This was just what they needed. “Let’s head ‘em off before they tip off the target.”

Via his earpiece, John heard Dorian radio for three MXs to assist but John could already see movement approaching from the gloom of the tunnel. Unless the MXs broke out into an attention-grabbing sprint, they wouldn’t make it here in time to be of much use. So what else was new, right?

“This is Kennex to command,” he said lowly into his comm. “Five unknown individuals on approach at south tunnel. Breach target at earliest opportunity, over.”

And then, with a nod to Dorian, they dived into the path of the five irate pedestrians.

And hell yeah, they were angry. That was obvious even in the dull glow of the distant agricultural facility lights. What Dorian had failed to mention was the fact that these jerks for justice had wrapped barbed wire around their improvised bats. An A+ for arts and agony.

“Hey,” John chirped. “Out for a stroll?”

That brought them up short and focused their rage totally upon John and Dorian.

“You bastards. We’re here to take the kids back.”

This was the downside of confronting enraged fathers and brothers in near-darkness. They had no idea who they were talking to.

Oh yeah, this just kept getting better and better.

“Hold up a second, pal,” John began, forgoing both “sir” and “mister.” Half a dozen unsuccessful conversations in to his assignment in this God forsaken place, John had realized that proper titles didn’t mean shit here. The people more or less wiped their asses with niceties like that. If John wanted cooperation, he had to arm wrestle for it. “We’re locked and loaded and unless those are pipe canons you’re carrying, then you’d be better off sitting this one out.”

“Give us our children, you--”

What followed was such an impressive and creative combination of insults and vitriol that John made a mental note to ask Dorian to archive it for posterity. That kind of fury deserved recognition.

“MXs on approach,” Dorian reported directly into John’s earpiece.

“How many kids?” John asked, knowing he’d come across as either obtuse or, even worse, mocking.

Not that it mattered. What mattered was the notification of the primary team leader buzzing in John’s ear: they were on approach and the countdown to breach had started.

Right then at that moment, just as the most infuriated pioneer of the bunch hefted his pimped out club higher like he was actually considering a screaming battle cry and suicidal charge, the three MXs popped out of the darkness and bellowed mechanically, “Lower your weapon!”

In John’s comm: “…two… one… move, move, move!!”

“Take cover!” John bellowed, diving for Dorian as light grenades exploded and gunfire erupted.

The five distraught dads roared with disbelief, charging forward.

The MXs lifted their assault rifles and John thundered: “MX, stand down!”

But a club was swinging toward the nearest MX and it was Dorian who grabbed the implement, ripping it from the man’s grasp with a single hand.

“Back off!” John hollered at the interlopers. “If you value your children’s lives, back the hell off now!” Because if they charged into an active breach, they’d get themselves and their kids filled full of holes.

“What the hell is going on?” more than one man demanded and John had no idea what to say. No words that wouldn’t result in these guys going ballistic.

More gunshots. Shouts. Via his earpiece, John could clearly hear the soldier who’d taken point shouting for at least one perp to drop his weapon and surrender his hostage.

Hostage. Shit. Why in the hell wasn’t John in there? It **_ought_** to be him in there. Would have been if not for these bozos that he was trying really hard not to kill.

But they wouldn’t back down. Another man charged forward and John smashed the butt of his rifle into the guy’s chest, tumbling him onto his ass. “MX, restrain and detain,” John ground out, disgusted with the whole sorry episode. He and Dorian had better places to be right now.

“Orders received,” one MX said and all three converged on the men, zip-ties in hand.

“C’mon, D.” John nodded for Dorian to follow and they raced toward the structure. Rushed in through the blasted-cockeyed door and found themselves being funneled deeper among trays of seedlings. “D, how do we get a line on this perp?”

Dorian nudged him toward the far corner, which was empty. John glanced up -- nothing but light fixtures -- and then looked down. “Basement, huh?”

“Yes,” Dorian grated out and John did a double-take. Something was wrong, but they didn’t have the time. “I l-lift, you shoo-oot. Five o’clock.”

John shifted around to take a couple hours off that clock, and then nodded for Dorian to do his thing. He pried the sheet metal up and John sighted and squeezed off two shots.

The man went down and the child in his grasp lunged-scrambled-sobbed for the nearest wall, shivering. One of the DRNs -- John couldn’t be sure from this angle which -- shuffled forward to calm the kid down.

“Other hostages?” John asked and Dorian jerked his head.

“Negative.”

“OK, good. What’s wrong?” But even as John asked, he knew: synthetic blood smears and drops where Dorian’s right hand had gripped the metal sheet. Wincing at the purple goo and torn skin, John hissed, “That handmade pain stick really did a number on you, pal.”

“Y-y-y-yes,” Dorian stuttered and the sound terrified John.

“Hey, what else is going on with you here?” Because whatever gizmos that regulated Dorian’s speech shouldn’t be affected by a hand injury, right?

Dorian squeezed his eyes shut and spoke very clearly, expending a monumental effort to bite off each word, “My hand contains several complex sensor systems. The damage is generating feedback and data gaps that are tripping me up. I can’t shift my focus away from the error signals I’m getting.”

“OK, OK,” John shushed him, scrambling for his med kit and a roll of gauze. “Here, lemme wrap it for you.” Maybe cut back on a few system alerts once Dorian’s mangled sensors weren’t in direct contact with the air. “Good thing Rudy stopped by, eh?”

Dorian nodded and John did his best to work quickly and gently. Yeah, it was very lucky that Rudy was here because human hand injuries were tricky enough -- John could only imagine how difficult it was going to be to put Dorian back together.

“Just, don’t let Rudy tear me a new one for this, yeah?” John joked because he needed Dorian to laugh. Right now.

He didn’t get a laugh, but he did get a hum, so that was something.

“I miss the sunshine, John.”

A spike of urgency jerked John’s chin up. He could hear the teams moving around, sweeping the structure and leading the survivors of the raid up the basement stairs and toward exits. John didn’t budge. He gripped the back of Dorian’s neck and damned the tactical helmet and goggles that prevented John from looking into his lover’s eyes. “I know. We’ll see it again, D. Someday. Sunrises. Sunsets. Sun showers, flowers, and lotion.”

Dorian coughed a chuckle and, yeah.

“We good for now?” John asked, tucking the end of the gauze in and Dorian nodded.

“Better.”

With a pat to Dorian’s shoulder, John stood up and offered his arm. Dorian clasped it with his left and John braced himself, levering the hefty android upright. He checked in with the team leaders. Assigned one of the DRNs -- James -- to get facial scans and DNA profiles from the dead guys to add to the database. “Dorian needs repairs. We’re heading back to base camp.”

A team of six soldiers and their MXs joined them. John didn’t even slow down as their path took them by the five dads/brothers/uncles/whatever and their emotional reunion with the children that had been successfully retrieved. Off to the side, three gang members were cuffed and under guard. Not to keep them from causing more damage, but to keep angry victims from pounding them like the main attraction at a piñata party. Or, at least not before John squeezed some intel out of them.

“John,” Dorian chided when he realized they were marching right past the scene. “You’ve got to say something, man.”

Damn it, yeah, he did. Because John was supposed to be the point man down here. So he grudgingly stomped to a halt and tugged his face shield off. “Hey. The name’s Kennex. These kids need first aid?”

The family members looked up. There was a beat of silence as they assessed John and his intentions. “My arm hurts,” a little boy whispered and it was like a gunshot blasting through the mounting tension.

“It does?” John answered. “Well, that’s not good. Will you let a friend of mine take a look at it?”

Father and son looked to each other before agreeing.

“Great,” John said and spoke into his comm. “Forney, where you at?”

“East side, scanning for structural instability.”

“Yeah? How’s it look?”

“Fine. Nothing a little welding won’t fix.”

“Fantastic. Need you over here in the south tunnel.”

“On my way, man.”

Through all of this, Dorian was silent and still. Suffering. John rubbed his back, a wordless promise that they’d be out of here soon.

“Kennex, huh?” one man spoke up, squinting. “Heard Franks talk about you.”

“Hm,” John grunted. “And you are?”

“Holis Abudi.” He didn’t offer to shake hands, which was fine. People down here generally didn’t, not unless they knew each other pretty well.

“Your kid here need anything?”

The little girl tugged on her dad’s shirt sleeve. “Can I have some water?”

“Yeah,” another kid mumbled, “me, too.”

Biting back a sigh, John unclipped his canteen. “Take mine.” He lifted it to his lips first and took a swallow before passing it to the nearest adult for inspection. Thankfully, Forney jogged over and John was able to put him to work. He hung around long enough to hear that nothing was broken or dislocated in the boy’s arm. Just a nasty sprain.

“I’ve got some gel for that and a compress,” Forney offered and, once he got consent, started in with the doctoring.

“Take care,” John said by way of farewell and steered Dorian away.

They couldn’t talk, not really. Not with a half dozen army reservists and their MX partners escorting them. So John used touch -- a hand on Dorian’s shoulder -- to speak for him.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“You really care about your DRNs,” a female soldier remarked after they crossed the hub threshold and Pierre led Dorian toward Rudy’s makeshift lab.

“They’re my team,” John answered. _****My people, ****_he didn’t say. But he could admit it, if only to himself.


	8. ER Boyfriend

“What a bleeping mess!” Rudy hissed. John would have put his money on a squawk with a side of evil eye, so it was just as well Dorian hadn’t been in the mood to suggest they wager on it.

John leaned toward the folding table Dorian was perched on. “Tell me what to do.”

“I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?” the scientist snapped, eyes blazing behind his magnifying goggles.

“R-r-rudy,” Dorian objected. Normally, this particular tone of voice would be calming. Placating. The stutter was kind of canceling that out, though. Reminding everyone in earshot of the damage Dorian had taken. “Not John’s fault.”

“Then whose bloody fault is it?”

John blew out a long breath and shook his head. “Either the distraught father ready to bash his way into gang territory in order to rescue his kid, or the MX that was going to shoot him for it.”

“Bloody MXs,” Rudy grumbled. “Inferior manners chips are the least of their shortcomings.”

John’s eyes narrowed. Daring to gesture for Rudy’s attention, he hounded, “Shortcomings? Have there been recent incidents back in the city?”

Rudy sighed. “No. That remark was unfair. Mostly, I was referring to the military protocols that these models utilize.”

The protocols that shifted every conceivable shade of gray into either black or white. In the city, weapon-wielding individuals were subject to arrest. A kill shot was a last resort.

On this side of the Wall, an MX would be down and the soldiers and officers it had been ordered to protect would be dead by then.

“Yeah, we all have issues with MXs. Let’s hug it out later. Rudy,” John prodded, “what can I do to help?”

“Honestly, you can bugger off.” When John reared back and blinked, Rudy explained, “If I need a steady pair of hands, I’ve more than enough DRNs to conscript, John.” Here, the man glanced over with a critical eye before adding, “And you look dead on your feet.”

“Rudy’s r-r-right, John,” Dorian concurred. The traitor. “Get some sleep, man.”

“After Stahl checks in,” John prevaricated. “So you’re stuck with me until then.” Or until Forney and the rest of the DRNs still on-site wrapped things up and shuffled on home.

Home. How depressing that John had begun to think of this shit-smeared hamster maze as home.

“You find your man?” John asked Val by way of greeting when she breezed through the door less than a half an hour later.

“Signs of recent activity consistent with Meade’s build, but the area was deserted.”

Damn. Nodding at Bob, Adam, and Ringo -- the DRNs who had acted as Valerie’s escort -- John said, “You guys good?”

“Yeah, man,” Ringo replied with an easy grin. “A walk in the park compared to the action you guys saw.”

Adam asked, “James OK? He’s being real quiet.”

Considering what they’d all seen at the agro facility and the intensity of what had gone down tonight, John suggested, “Yeah, he might be taking a little private time to process.” Especially since John had assigned him the wholly wretched task of cataloging the dead. At least Forney had been able to help the living, earn himself a smile or two of thanks. From personal experience, John knew that went a long way toward making all the rest of it bearable.

Bob winced at the sight of Dorian’s hand -- Rudy had somehow slowed the flow of purple robot juice in order to get a closer look at the synthetic tendons beneath -- and sympathized, “Man, what did that?”

As every DRN in the vicinity paused (probably because Dorian was file-sharing the confrontation), John checked his watch again. Turning to Val, he said, “I gotta radio in an update, but after that I can give you a hand.”

“Actually, it’s been a long day. I’m just going to log our progress--” She waggled the case file tablet in the air. “--and crash.”

“Copy that. Dorian set you up with a bunk?”

“I’m good.” Leaning past John, she rubbed Dorian’s shoulder. “Get well soon, Dorian.”

“Thank you.”

She waved goodnight to everyone and John returned it absently as he spoke into his comm, “Forney, sit rep.”

The team was on approach, ETA twelve minutes or less. John propped a hip against the table and, in response to Dorian’s arched brow, said, “I might as well wait for them.”

One side of Dorian’s mouth hitched up in a telltale smirk. Yeah, both Dorian and John knew he didn’t have to wait here like a worried boyfriend in the ER. But they both knew John wasn’t going anywhere yet.

Unfortunately, that meant putting up with an increasingly crowded common room. Bob, Adam, and Ringo wanted to see how Forney and James had fared. A bunch of other DRN dudes were drawn by the gathering -- John assumed most of whatever chatter that was happening was all in their heads via the shared DRN network -- and soon MacKenzie, Goku, Pierre, and a partridge in a pear tree were crammed around Rudy’s operating table.

John rubbed a hand over his face and crossed his arms and tried not to resent how freely the DRNs could distract Dorian from whatever discomfort he was in. The boyfriend in the ER was squeezed out by the fan club. That just figured.

But John only had to be an adult about it for a total of eleven minutes and twenty seconds. Forney and James pushed into the room, receiving pats on the back. Forney, still in medic mode, squiggled up to Dorian to see the injury for himself.

“Damn,” the DRN breathed. “That MX unit owes you, man. Big time.”

John agreed. He patted Dorian on the arm and then closed in on James. “Hey. Let’s take care of those database updates.”

James followed John to the comms room where Sven was monitoring the perimeter sensors and airwaves. With a very strong suggestion that Sven go check out Dorian’s war wounds for himself, John cleared the room.

It only took ten seconds -- if that -- for James to input the data, but John could tell he was trying to draw it out. Great. Another recalcitrant robot. There were times when John was positive these DRNs had been modeled after moody teenagers.

John sank down into the operator’s chair and gestured for James to make himself comfortable in the only other seat in the room.

“What you saw and had to do tonight was upsetting,” John blurted. Maybe an understatement would blast through James’ control. Dorian had certainly given John the what-for when John had compared the precinct’s policy of giving MXs charging priority with having to share the same tiny bathroom with everyone flying coach.

But it didn’t work on James.

OK, Plan B.

“You helped save lives,” John said. “Those kids will see their friends and family again. Have a chance to rebuild their homes. You get that, right? Home isn’t just a set of four walls. It’s your center. The place and people you turn to for comfort.”

Nothing.

Crap. Plan C.

John’s hand landed on James’ shoulder. “Talk to me, man. Tell me what’s stuck in your head.”

James swiveled a bit on his chair, dislodging John’s hand. John didn’t try to chase after him.

“What you did for Dorian,” the android quietly mused. If not for his distressed expression, John would have assumed the words were prompted from idle curiosity. “He was injured in the line of duty and you left to get him back to base… would you have done that for any of us?”

Lying was always an option. In the presence of bipedal lie-detectors, it wasn’t a very good option, but John didn’t discount it out of hand.

Evading was on the menu, too, but John was honestly too tired to slice and dice half-truths.

“You want to know why I rushed him back here.” It was a rhetorical question. Of course James wanted to know, otherwise why would he have asked? The hard part was figuring out what James was really asking. John tried for a literal approach: “His hand was torn up so bad the sensors were screwing with his speech patterns, a serious liability in an unsecured area.” John shrugged. “I knew Rudy would be able to help.”

“You were in command of the op.”

John kind of wanted to argue just for the sake of arguing, but he couldn’t. He’d organized and implemented the op, that was true.

James insisted like a dog with a bone, “But you abandoned your post to help him. Would you do that for any of us?”

“I don’t know. But just let me tell you one thing here. Dorian was assigned as my partner last April; his job was to be a cop and keep me alive. Don’t ask me which takes priority, now or then, but he was pretty good at both.” John continued, “In January, I was assigned as Dorian’s backup -- when we first came over the Wall. And he’s still here, so I am, too.”

James smiled. Tremulously, but yeah, that was a smile. “I used to work in an assisted living center. I promised the residents I’d be there for them.” He looked down at his hands. “I don’t even know how many have passed away since I was sent here.”

John gritted his teeth because God--damn--it. Unfair.

He didn’t lie; he didn’t tell James that everything was going to be OK.

He didn’t evade; he didn’t reassure the DRN that the people he’d been forced to leave behind would understand.

“You want to send them a message?” John asked and yes, there, that prompted a genuine smile.

“Really? Can I?”

“I’ll look into it.” With a hearty pat to the android’s arm, John nodded him toward the door. “Send Sven back in to finish his shift and get your ass in a charger, pal.”

“Will do. Thank you, Kennex.”

How infuriating. John hadn’t even done anything yet. But arguing was only going to delay his own recharging, so he let it slide. Just this once, it couldn’t hurt.

He considered making life miserable for their newest detainees, but John just wasn’t feeling it right now. Maybe in the morning. After they had a nice, long, indeterminate while to think real hard about how they were going to impress John so that they didn’t get tossed back into the territory that they’d tried to take over. The previous inhabitants would be real happy to see them back so soon.

From the way Dorian didn’t smirk at John when he ducked back into the “operating room,” John figured that either James was keeping John’s offer to himself or Dorian was in no mood to give a shit. So John patted his back and, with a “Heal fast, D,” finally dared to think about getting some shuteye.

He shuffled through the main room and down the corridor. Shouldered his way into the apartment and shifted past Dorian’s charger. He sighed as he tugged off his tactical gear and clothes. The sanitary body wipes were frigid against his clammy skin, which broke out in goose bumps with every headache-inducing pass. A tank top and boxer shorts because John needed to be comfortable more than he needed to look decent during a midnight emergency.

Leg on the charger. Gun beside it.

Spare leg against the wall, within reach.

Everything neatly arranged in its proper place.

Well, except for Dorian. Who wasn’t here. And rather than enjoy having the whole expanse of the mattress to himself, it just made John’s bones ache. In the darkness, it filled his thoughts like the stink of a fart on the bus.

Great.

So he flipped the light to its dimmest setting, willfully ignoring the fact that Dorian wouldn’t need it to see where he was going when he got back. John threw an arm over his eyes and told himself to go the fuck to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For whatever reason, Goku and James still remember the work they used to do back in the city. Perhaps because they're "on loan" to the police department until the companies can figure out what to do with their respective DRNs. So Rudy didn't clear their memories before sending them to John.


	9. Low Charge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it been forty-eight hours, yet? I think it has... (^_~)

John woke to the whisper of the outer door swinging open.

Quick footsteps approaching.

A tingle of awareness seared up John’s spine as his instincts screamed: _****Wrong wrong wrong!****_

The bedroom door crashed open.

A DRN advanced on him.

Not Dorian.

A gun in John’s hand. _****Crack! Crack-crack-crack!****_

A struggle. Fast, furious, frantic.

DRN hands on John’s head, a twist away from snapping his neck--

And then a freight train slammed into both John and his attacker and John was tumbling back, arms flailing and gun smacking against the wall--_****don’t drop it don’t drop it!**** _ Balance lost, John slid off the edge of the bed -- not even memory foam could hold him steady at this speed -- and then--

A starburst of pain exploded in his skull, behind his eyes.

_****Dorian!**** _ John’s whole will clenched, holding tight to this one lifeline, but the darkness came and would not be denied.

It wasn’t so bad, the darkness. Numbing. Soothing despite the niggling feeling that John really should be awake right now.

Aw, man. He hated that feeling. It poisoned the reality-muffling nothingness like the bleating of an alarm clock, dissolving the mist beneath him until John found solid ground under his back and shoulder. His hip throbbed against cold, concrete floor. His elbow screeched and giggled -- fucking funny bone. His head spun and when he opened his eyes, everything was disturbingly blurry until he blinked once, twice--

_****Crash!**** _

The bed shifted, jostling John and he realized two things simultaneously: first, the threat wasn’t over and, two, somebody was duking it out with a rogue DRN in John’s bedroom.

John pulled himself onto his left knee, bracing his elbows on the mattress to lever himself up for a look. Gun at the ready, he sighted--

And scowled at the tangle of two DRNs brawling against the wall. A missed punch scraped a furrow in the drywall. The door beside them hung drunkenly, one hinge torn out of its moorings.

“Get out of here, John!” the DRN with a bleeding right hand shouted.

Forget that. What John needed was a clean shot. “Duck down!”

The other DRN had a hand around Dorian’s throat and even though Dorian had the assailant’s other arm pinned to the wall and legs tangled up, the kill-bot was stubbornly trying to wedge space between them in an attempt to throw Dorian off.

Blue sparks danced up Dorian’s injured arm where he pressed the torso of his opponent flat against the flimsy wall. His elbow twitched, nearly buckling before locking tight again.

Stalemate. John didn’t dare drop the gun, not even for the four seconds it would take to put on his leg.

And then three more DRNs barreled through the bashed-in door. They grabbed the attacker and Dorian stumbled back, jerking uncharacteristically, and now John did drop the gun. He lunged up onto the mattress and scrambled for Dorian’s shoulders as the android fell back.

“Hey, hey, gotcha!” he oomphed, managing to gather the android’s shoulders against his chest.

Dorian didn’t pant with exertion. Didn’t wince with the pain of his injuries, either. Nope, those were John’s department. Just in time for Valerie to come through the door, gun drawn and pointed down, but John had seen her shoot before and there weren’t many people quicker on the draw than Detective Stahl. Chrome-perfect vision didn’t hurt, either, when it came to hitting what she was aiming at... although given John’s rumpled and half-naked state, he was kind of wishing she wouldn’t see every scruffy detail quite so clearly.

John felt like Goku’s paper-puke collage and he didn’t like it. Frowning, he shoved at Dorian’s bulk and Dorian pulled himself into a sitting position.

“John!”

“I’m OK, damn it. Scan me if you have to. What about you?”

“Low on charge.”

John caught the flicker of light in Dorian’s eyes and agreed, “Yeah. And you screwed up your hand.”

“I don’t care about that, man,” Dorian huffed impatiently, clawing himself around to fully face John.

“Well, I do. Now I gotta protect you from the wrath of Rudy--”

Lips mashed artlessly, desperately, against John’s and his brows shot straight up as Dorian practically climbed into his lap and John grabbed for his shoulders, fingers curling hard into the android’s upper arms. Jesus, D was kissing John in front of Stahl and four DRNs, any of whom could be transmitting this scene along the network shared by all twenty-four team members and maybe the MXs and... shit.

What made it worse was that John wanted to kiss back. He wanted to wrestle Dorian into his arms.

But if he did and it got out, John could lose his job.

If he didn’t, Dorian would be considered volatile. Unpredictable. Crazy.

So John compromised as best he could. He gave Dorian’s shoulder a bro-pat and, wrenching his chin aside, grabbed for Dorian’s nape. Guided his face down toward John’s shoulder. “Hey. It’s OK, man. We’re good. We’re good.” Looking up at the shocked faces of the three “good guy” DRNs, John was irked to realize that he couldn’t ID them. Dorian’s display had shocked the quirks right out of them.

“Get this guy restrained somewhere,” John ordered, indicating the perpetrator.

Val stepped back to make room for them to wrestle the would-be killer out the door. To her credit, she didn’t stare at John or Dorian, who was finally starting to pull his shit together. In fact, she looked like she was about to apologize.

But she didn’t look surprised by the attempt on John’s life. In fact, she didn’t even look like she’d leaped out of bed. John scanned her from head to toe and, yup, she was dressed in department-issue, tear-resistant fabrics. The weave wouldn’t stop a bullet, but it’d turn away most blades.

“Out with it, Stahl,” he growled. Dorian leaned back, brows pinched with regret and John held up a hand to forestall the sorry-so-sorry-but-maybe-I’m-not-sorry that was probably coming.

“That wasn’t what we were expecting,” she admitted quietly.

“What you were expecting!” Dorian exploded. Yup. Low charge. Way low.

Val nodded but didn’t put her gun away. She angled herself to stand guard at the ruined door and sighed. “Two days ago, an attempt was made on Jake Bellman.”

Bellman. The self-proclaimed lobbyist that had raised the funds and pushed through the proposal that had led John to his recent job change and Dorian’s continued existence. And if someone had taken a shot at the guy championing for the end of the Wall, then it wasn’t so far-fetched to assume that John’s name was next on the list.

“He wasn’t hit -- the shot went wide -- and we have a protective detail assigned to him now, but the shooter escaped. Albertus Meade.”

Dorian fidgeted and John realized he was still rubbing the DRN’s back, but not in a brotherly fashion. John resolutely did not shift away. Instead, he looped his arm around Dorian’s waist. Partly because John didn’t want Val to see him without this leg and Dorian was providing a convenient screen, but mostly because it had been too long since John had been this close to his lover and, in light of tonight’s close call, John wasn’t too proud to deny his need for reassurance. Not anymore, anyway. Huh. That probably made him “a changed man.”

Dorian was going to gloat forever if he figured it out.

In an effort to distract the DRN from any epiphanies, John summed up: “So you’re here to track down a hit man who could also be after me.”

She nodded. “Pretty much.”

But there wasn’t much pretty about it.

“OK, OK, look. I gotta get dressed and D needs to charge--”

“I am not letting you out of my sight, man.”

“Yeah, OK. We can work with that.” He reached up to scrub his hand against Dorian’s unchanging hair. To Val, he said, “Give us a few minutes.”

“Sure. I’ll be just outside. Just in case.”

They waited until the outer door thumped shut and the door latch caught with a reverberating **_**_click!_**_**

“John…” Dorian mewled, his voice fluctuating.

“C’mere,” John coaxed, pulling the android in closer, rocking them both. Dorian’s good hand petted over John’s back like he was scanning for internal injuries. Hell. Maybe he was. “I’m OK and Rudy’s going to sort this out.”

“If I had been one second slower--”

“But you weren’t.” John pulled back far enough to give Dorian the kiss he’d needed two minutes ago. Slow and warm with a glide of tongue that spoke of life and reassurance. Against the DRN’s lips, John murmured, “You were right on time, D.”

“What if someday I’m not?”

John swiveled his chin in something that was halfway between a nod and a shrug. “Then I’ll get all the glory.”

Dorian’s eyes slid closed and his lips curled upward in a grin. “You’d be toast, man.”

“Well, you’re the toaster.”

“Shut up.”

“Ooh, snarky. You know how much I like that.”

“Let’s find out how much you’d like a spanking.”

John guffawed against the android’s temple before placing a noisy, wet kiss there. Arm slung around Dorian’s neck, John gave a playful squeeze and proposed, “How about we find out what the hell’s going on around here instead.”

“All work and no play, John…” Dorian warned, leaving the rhyme unfinished.

“First you say I’m boring and now I’m dull? You wound me. Wound me deep.”

Dorian beamed. “No, I don’t. You’re fine.” Fingertips ghosted over John’s scalp and deftly avoided the pulsating goose egg that was forming were he’d whapped his skull against the charger table. “You’re perfectly fine.”

See? John had been right when he’d insisted he didn’t have that many flaws. That quack plastic surgeon hadn’t known his ass from his elbow.

John waggled his brows. “Perfect, hm? I’m gonna quote you on that later.”

“Go for it. Just so long as there is a later.”

“Yeah. You can count on it.”


	10. Repairs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: SEXYTIMES!!!

“You knew all about this, huh?” John accused Rudy. After the little song dance John had performed for the officer in charge and her contingent of locked-and-loaded reservists (apparently none of which had brought along their sense of humor)--

_ ** ** “Sorry about the commotion; just a training exercise. Next time I’ll make sure you guys are notified in advance.” ** ** _

John was just not in the mood to beat around the bush. He was tired, achy in the wake of adrenaline, and a cup of coffee would be a bad idea. John knew it and it pissed him off. He growled, “You were in on it, too.”

Rudy didn’t even twitch. “Well, not the part about a DRN being used to get the job done, obviously,” the man objected, focusing hard on the painstaking progress he was making on Dorian’s jigsaw puzzled palm. “At least we can cross Nigel Vaughn off of the list of suspects.” He glanced up at Valerie as if cuing her.

She concurred, “One of his DRNs killing someone -- that’s the opposite of what he wants.”

John corrected: “What we _****think****_ he wants.”

She tilted her head to the side, acknowledging the point.

“Hold on,” Rudy objected, pausing the delicate tweezer work he was performing. “What does Vaughn gain by proving his DRNs -- his life’s work -- are either unstable or susceptible to hacking?”

“Who said anything about hacking?” Dorian pointed out and, yeah. Who the hell knew what Nigel Vaughn’s game plan was these days. John was loathe to rule anything out.

Crossing his arms, John glared at their uninvited and disgruntled guest: DRN Number 25. For lack of a unit number to go by, that was what they were calling him. John had no idea where he’d come from, but John had asked Dorian to take a headcount that John had confirmed with his own eyes. The whole team was present and accounted for and nobody had had any contact whatsoever to report with the new guy.

John would have gotten a start on interrogating Door Buster over there, except Rudy had already deactivated him. The android was laid out on the folding table like a battle casualty. Dorian refused to let anyone touch the DRN before he had full use of both hands and a higher charge than his opponent.

“That’s what it would have come down to, John,” Dorian had confessed as he’d traced the scrapes and gouges and stared hard at each bullet hole in the wall while John had put on his fully-charged, back-up leg and hunted up some clean clothes. “We’re evenly matched. Programmed with dozens of fighting styles. If he really was sent to kill you, he’d have kept at it until he ran out of charge. Or I did.”

It bothered Dorian. John could see that. Just how much of that memorable low charge day last fall was still messing with Dorian’s head?

“Hey,” John had said, tugging a black Henley on over his head, “this isn’t about Lynch, is it?”

Dorian had given John a pained look.

“That was not your fault,” John had insisted, neither John being abducted by that collar-bomb crafting whacko nor nearly having his own head kablooied hours later.

“I hate being at a disadvantage, John. I hate that you suffer for it.”

“You know what they say: what doesn’t kill you--”

“Gives you scars and nightmares.”

John had sighed. Fair enough. “C’mon. Charge time for you, Gloomy.”

Dorian was now propped up in a charging pod, fully awake and alert, as Rudy put his right hand back together and six trustworthy DRNs stood guard.

“So,” John said into the thickening silence, “is there a specific reason for why you didn’t let on that I was a target or just the usual assassin-bait bullshit?”

“John,” Valerie chided, but John just wasn’t in the mood. Neither was Dorian, who stared at her with unblinking eyes until she replied, “You’re surrounded by very capable androids, so it wasn’t as if assigning a protective detail was necessary. And if you changed your routine, Meade would just come up with some other scheme and then…” She shrugged helplessly.

Yeah, there was that. “No leads on who’s bankrolling this?”

“None yet.” 

“Uh-huh,” John grouched. “Is this the part where you suggest we act as if the hit was successful? Wait for the final payment and follow the money to Meade?”

Dorian snorted and John was seriously digging the low charge sequel. “If the forensic accountants couldn’t trace the down payment, I doubt they’ll have much luck with the balance due.”

John seconded that in silence, his brows arching. But he looked to Val to see what other options she’d come up with. There was no telling how many aces the woman had up her sleeve.

She nodded, capitulating. “Dorian’s right. Our best bet is to open up this DRN and hope his programming points us in the right direction.” Val narrowed her eyes at John and mused, “I’m surprised you’re not accusing Councilman Hart or Billings.”

“What--I have to cast my vote now?” So far, all they really knew about the threat was its possible goals: kill John and discredit DRNs. Oh, and get Bellman out of the picture. So, that narrowed the suspect pool down to: (a) someone who didn’t want the Wall to come down, or (b) someone who had a beef against DRNs. John figured it was unlikely that one person could be targeting Bellman and John _****and****_ DRNs in some kind of personal vendetta. They didn’t exactly run in the same social circles.

“What if this is about territory?” John said tiredly, throwing another possibility out there. “You said Meade has ties to InSyndicate. Maybe they’re making a play to get their turf back.” And getting rid of the lobbyist, on-site cop, and fleet of helpful androids with provisional rights would be a first step in making the city abandon its ambitions, pull back the troops and let things return to status quo.

Val picked up the thread of logic and reeled it out: “Or maybe your presence over here is denying them access to a major resource: a weapon or research or bio-engineered agent. Something they’d need in order to reestablish themselves or launch an attack. How much of the tunnel system is still unexplored?”

“Who knows. We don’t have blueprints for everything,” John replied bluntly. “These people aren’t afraid to take the initiative and dig their own.”

“The DRN facilities,” Rudy suggested. “Let’s start there before we go off chasing rainbows.”

John glanced at Dorian to see what he thought of all this.

“It’s a good idea. And it’d be safer if Rudy could open up that DRN’s head somewhere other than here.”

True. “How long will you need to determine if there are any fun surprises over there?” John asked Rudy.

“At least twenty-four hours.”

Yeesh. Cases had been opened and closed in less time.

“Maybe as few as five or six… if I have a volunteer. A DRN to act as a test subject.”

“Yeah…” John drawled. “We’ve already got one android on the warpath. For all we know, that facility is where he was programmed.”

“Yes,” Rudy agreed. “For all we know, he might have been.” 

There was a long, tense moment of silence. John felt empty and strung out and, hell, he just wanted some answers. Why was that such a tall order around here?

“I’ll do it.”

Rudy, Val, Dorian, and John all looked up as Bob took half a step away from his guard post along the wall.

“If you need a volunteer, I’ll do it.”

John’s jaw clenched against warning Bob not to be so eager to throw himself on this grenade.

Rudy cleared his throat. “Much obliged. Um. Hang around for a bit?”

“Sure, man.”

“How’s your charge?” John checked.

“Almost full.”

Turning to Dorian, John asked, “And yours?”

“Getting there.”

“OK.” OK, they’d roll out on this crazy plan just as soon as Dorian could use his right hand and had a completely full charge. Just in case there really was something in the DRN facility that would make their intrepid volunteer lose his shit.

Val announced her intentionto get some sleep. On her way out, she detoured over to Rudy to give his arm a slow rub. He looked up long enough for a quick kiss and John figured this was Val’s answer to what she’d seen between John and Dorian. Not only did she have her own special someone, but she was trusting John not to use it against her. Friendship, also known as “when two people could blackmail each other but don’t.”

“Sleep well, love,” Rudy murmured.

“Good night, Detective,” Dorian added with an understanding smile.

John smirked wryly. “’Night.” He waited until she was gone before blurting, “So you guys are still at it, huh?”

Focusing on his work with a determined breath, Rudy mumbled, “Well, it hasn’t all been roses. With our schedules and, well… we’re putting the work in when we can.”

“Good for you,” John said and hell yes he meant it.

Four hours -- including an uncomfortable nap taken on a squeaky, old cot -- later, John was allowed to take Dorian back to their rooms for some real rest. The inner door had been realigned and was hanging straight. John opened it carefully, but the hinge appeared to be strongly anchored. The bullet holes and door knob crater were gone. He could barely see the edges of the patch job.

“Nice. You tell Dominic and Jackie to do this?” John wondered. He vaguely recalled DRN voices murmuring in the background as he’d dozed.

“After they found a cot for you, yes.”

“Please don’t ever do that again,” John implored, pressing a fist to his lower back and twisting to the side, but it was just as he’d feared -- the knot had settled in and was there to stay. Oh, lovely.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh, yeah. My back’s thanking you, all right.”

“Quit your bellyachin' and get over here, John,” Dorian ordered from the bed.

“You gotta top off your charge,” John muttered, trying not to look too eager for a massage. A left-handed massage because Rudy had given Dorian strict orders not to use his right hand for anything at all over the next six hours.

“I don’t have an endless supply of nanobots,” the man had snarked tiredly. Poor Rudy. The special forces honeymoon was well and truly over.

Dorian patted the mattress. “I’ll charge, John. Trust me. I won’t forget.”

“Yeah, well. I think it slipped Rudy’s mind.” John sat and pulled off his sweater, shivered as Dorian’s left hand smoothed over his undershirt, warmer than usual. Oh shit, this was going to be one of those targeted heat deals that would turn John’s entire body to goo and make him ask please-sir-can-I-have-some-more.

“Rudy is exhausted. He needs eight-and-a-half hours, minimum. Plenty of time.”

“OK.” John dealt with his boots and gingerly shimmied out of his pants. Dorian’s hand pressed him gently down onto his stomach and then slow sweeps of warmth glided over John’s lower back. Aw fuck yes. John may have groaned, but since Dorian didn’t heckle him over being old, he figured the sound had been all in his head.

“John,” Dorian breathed into John’s ear something like ten minutes and three dissolved knots later.

“Hmm?” Oh, God. The heat from Dorian’s palm pressing gentle circles into his lower back was heaven. Heaven with a capital “H.”

“I want you to fuck me, John.”

It took a moment for him to react. The words -- oh, yeah, he’d heard those. His whole body had and he had the goose bumps to prove it. But what he should say about it… “Uh, well, put it on your Christmas list and if you’re real good this year, maybe--”

“No, John. Tonight. Now.”

John rolled up onto his elbow so he could judge for himself just how serious Dorian was about this. From what he could see of the DRN’s expression over his shoulder, he was dead serious. And, yeah, considering what had almost happened a few hours ago, OK. John could imagine what kind of place Dorian was in right now. If it had been Dorian who’d been attacked and John who had almost arrived too late…

John didn’t ask if Dorian really wanted his first time to happen here of all places. Of course he didn’t. No one would. John tried to tease: “You’re gonna smell like olive oil…” And every android in the vicinity would know.

Dorian tilted his head and gave John a wry smile. “Maybe I’ve got creaky joints.”

“And maybe I should make sure you do?” John teased, arching up, twisting around and flopping onto his back, gathering the android closer. A hot kiss, scorching. John was suddenly gasping into Dorian’s needy mouth and they both still had clothes on.

An issue they could deal with and did.

“Oh, Jesus, D,” John groaned against his lover’s navel as Dorian sprawled beneath him and it had been a long time -- way too long -- since they’d dared to be completely bare with one another. Dared to fall into need and sensation and--

“Hnnng, John,” Dorian breathed and John panted helplessly against the gorgeous flesh nudging his lips. Before Dorian, John had never licked, lapped, or savored another man’s arousal -- still had zero interest in any other dick aside from Dorian’s -- but damn. He loved loved _****loved****_ how it short-circuited Dorian’s enunciation program.

“OK?” he asked, massaging insistent circles against the circle of synthetic muscle Dorian insisted he breach.

Dorian nodded, his left hand clenching in John’s too-long hair. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes--”

A sucking kiss to the head of the DRN’s arousal as one oil-slicked finger slid inside and they both moaned, Dorian with sensation and John with anticipation.

A nip to a synthetic nipple. A nuzzle into the curve of an arched throat. Hips rolling, coaxed into a rhythm on the tips of John’s fingertips. Two fingers. Deep. Dorian’s eyes were squeezed shut, left hand cupping John’s ass before moving to hip-waist-arm-nape--

“John,” the DRN whispered and John replied, hand withdrawing and hips nudging into the cradle of his lover’s thighs. Kissing and sucking at Dorian’s jaw as those shapely, heavy legs twined around John’s waist and there was no escape from the gravity of Dorian’s warmth. Oh, Jesus.

“D,” John breathed, thanking whatever powers responsible for this moment. And then the DRN was arching, inviting, and John was sliding in and deep and there was nothing beyond this moment, this feeling of slick heat and profound connection. “Tell me,” John murmured, low and muffled against Dorian’s ear. “Tell me how it feels to you?”

“It’s--ah! Ah--ah--only a composite…”

“No. It’s not,” John argued, slotting his hips snugly against Dorian’s and thrusting swift and deep. “You choose how this feels. You choose this, D.”

Dorian’s head fell back onto the pillow and his Adam’s apple bobbed, lips slack and soft with surrender. “I choose you, John. Ohhh… so good.”

He sounded pleasantly surprised and John wondered how else he could exceed Dorian’s expectations…

“Roll to your left, D,” John coaxed and--

Mindful of the right hand Dorian had been forbidden from using, John nudged him from one position to another: Dorian on his side, mouth agape in wanton abandon and John hugging one strong thigh to his chest as he sat back and rolled deep, deep, deep--

Dorian on his belly and John’s mouth charting each contour of his back in slow motion because “Pressure and temperature sensors,” Dorian had babbled and John was curious if that could translate to pleasure and, apparently, it did--

Dorian on his knees, bracing against the mattress on one hand and John’s hooked around Dorian’s right elbow as he fucked him slow and gentle, mouthing the back of his neck and shoulders, moaning against synthetic skin--

_ ** **So good…** ** _

Dorian crouching over John’s lap, back-to-chest, riding John’s cock and John wrapped both arms around Dorian’s waist, so perfect perfect Jesus fucking Christ perfect--

“John… I’m--I’m gonna--oh, man, please just--”

“Stop, wait.” John pawed at Dorian’s hips, ribs, shoulders. “Look at me, D. Lemme see you come.”

John’s hand closed around Dorian’s hard cock, stroked, and Dorian’s dreamy eyes met John’s over his shoulder-- a hitch of breath. Left hand clenching in sheets. John’s hips snapping forward and then a reedy whine and John could almost see those little lights illuminating Dorian’s skin from temple to toes.

And when Dorian sighed, a satisfied smile curving his lips, John let himself go, let himself accept the welcome of his lover’s body and dive into his warmth again and again until Dorian’s heat washed over John’s skin, calling forth the telltale tingle from deep in his spine and such heat--John drowned in it, awash and breathless and just this. Just this moment of transcendent beauty and acceptance and home.

John folded down onto Dorian’s frame, muscles still shuddering and hips twitching in the aftershocks.

“Damn,” Dorian mused, reaching around and combing roughly through John’s sweaty hair.

Grinning blindly, John concurred, “Maybe. Don’t care if am. So long as I have you.” With a monumental effort, he lifted his chin and met Dorian’s gaze.

Dorian nodded once. Mouth mashing into a frown and brows pinching and if ever there was a time to be emotional in bed, well, John figured this was definitely one of them. So he nuzzled and caressed and cradled until Dorian could remember to breathe again. The last thing John registered before he fell headlong into slumber was the feel of a warm palm pressed to his achy lower back.


	11. DRN Facility

“Hey, are you sure you want to do this?” John asked, arm outstretched and barring Bob from entering the DRN facility. The MXs and human soldiers had cleared it, but there were only so many kinds of threats that they could detect. The worst were the ones that nobody noticed until it was too late.

John pressed, “You cannot underestimate the risks, man.”

In a low voice, Dorian added his own perspective: “The worst thing you can imagine is only the tip of the iceberg.”

“You speaking from experience?” Bob looked more curious than apprehensive because Dorian was standing right here, proof that whatever may have happened hadn’t been fatal.

“I am.”

Bob didn’t ask what had gone down; Dorian would have told him already if he could have. Nope, all he wanted to know was-- “What brought you back?”

“John. And Rudy,” Dorian answered succinctly.

“Yeah, no guarantees we can pull it off a second time,” John bit out because the truth needed to be said.

Bob looked up at John and then glanced into the lab complex toward the lone workstation where Rudy was already bringing the system online. The cavernous space beyond was crammed with dozens of DRN-specific charging pods, all of which would have to be scanned before they could be cleared for use, but Rudy would be focusing on the lab portion of the facility first and foremost.

“Yeah,” Bob said, nodding. “OK. I’m good.”

Famous last words. John lowered his hand. “You offline? Disconnected from comms?” Once he got another nod, John asked his partner, “D? You, too?”

“Yes. Firewalls in place.”

It wasn’t much, but John had insisted that the DRNs protect themselves from any viral transmissions. Well for as long as they could, anyway. At some point, Bob would be hooked up to the system and, depending on how things went, Dorian might end up scanning him. The rest would be up to Rudy.

With a sigh, John radioed back to the hub to check in. James answered. All was quiet. And then John signed off, but not before reminding his team to terminate contact with Dorian and Bob until they could be sure that it was safe to open up DRN communication channels again.

John’s skin itched. And not from those damned body wipes this time.

“John?” The sound of his name and a touch to his jacket sleeve brought him back into focus. Dorian reminded him, “We’ve prepared the best we can.”

“Yeah.” The reassurance didn’t reverse John’s scowl. Damn but what he wouldn’t give to be back in the mess hall, surrounded by DRNs whose “perfect” noses were twitching as they scented the olive oil on both John and Dorian in quantities that could not be explained away by the creaky synthetic joint excuse. Surprisingly, no one had said a thing. To either John or Dorian. Out loud, anyway. But in retrospect, it was obvious why they wouldn’t. Even a joke could have terrible consequences. For everyone.

Still, John was positive that MacKenzie had looked far too smug. If there had been a betting pool on it, it was obvious who had won the jackpot. Correction: who clearly _****thought****_ he’d won. Was it too much to hope that Dorian was the real winner? Though, honestly, it was a toss up as to whether Dorian had been blessed or cursed by those organic memories. He was either the luckiest DRN in the world or the most doomed. Hopefully, they’d never find out which.

“Right, OK,” Rudy said into the silence. “At first glance, everything looks above board.”

John glanced over at the tablet screen despite his certainty that he’d understand precisely 0% of what was on it. Numbers and flashing progress bars and yup. Zero percent.

Should have brought a book to read. Or his manicure kit -- because John actually didn’t have any books in this dystopian paradise.

Right. Now he knew what he’d be putting on his Christmas list.

“Bob, if you’re still agreeable…?” Rudy inquired with a worried frown.

“Tell me what you need me to do, Doctor Lom,” Bob chirped, looking like all he needed was a super hero cape and an accommodating breeze.

“Well, if you’re sure--” He was. The DRN’s confidence was sickening. John crossed his arms and bit his tongue and said nothing. “--then hop up here and we’ll see what happens when the system senses a DRN.”

A whole lot of nothing happened. Nothing that John could see, anyway. Rudy pecked, swiped, and mumbled away at the keyboard while Bob sat on the edge of the gurney like a kid at the doctor’s office waiting for a lollipop at the conclusion of his checkup.

Bored and frustrated, John turned to Dorian, who was still standing by, to ask, “So, what’s your assessment?”

To that very non-specific conversation starter, Dorian mused, “These facilities were very likely designed by Vaughn himself.”

John didn’t ask if that was the voice of experience talking.

With a nod to the setup, Dorian added, “Unless someone in InSyndicate had an extensive background in robotics, it’s unlikely they’d manage this particular arrangement.”

“Does it resemble Vaughn’s old workshop? The one the XRN raided for a new body?”

“A little.”

“Hm.” So Dorian was basing his analysis on the lab-that-almost-was. Back in the repo storage unit. When he’d been more Vaughn than Dorian.

“Whoops--hello,” Rudy suddenly muttered and then glanced at his fearless volunteer. “Did you feel that?”

“It felt like a nudge,” Bob answered and Dorian angled himself in front of John. John made sure his holster was unclipped and gun easily accessible.

Rudy quizzed, “Like you want to cause mayhem?”

“Uh, no. Nothing like that.”

“Hm. Which subdirectory did it affect?”

“It targeted acquired visual data… January of this year, first batch.”

Sitting back a bit, Rudy mused, “First batch -- you mean from when you were reactivated?” When the DRN nodded, Rudy asked, “The first face you saw would be…?”

“John’s,” he replied and John frowned. When and where had Bob decided they were on a first-name basis?

“You mean Kennex’s,” Dorian corrected and Bob blinked, processing.

“Yeah. That’s weird,” Bob observed. “I have memories of calling him Kennex, but he’s ‘John’ to me now. Sorry, man,” Bob said to John.

“Can’t you just…?” John waved a hand through the air, groping for a technical term he probably wouldn’t know if it jumped up and bit him.

“Rewrite the association,” Rudy suggested directly to the DRN and Bob shook his head.

“I’ll try but, to be honest, I don’t really want to.”

John huffed. “Not the point, Bob. If you can’t follow orders, then--”

“No, no. I can. Just give me a moment.”

“That was strange,” Dorian commented as he and John made their way back to the hub. Rudy and Bob were still in the DRN lab with six human soldiers, six MXs, and two DRNs keeping watch. The path they took now was monitored by infrared cameras and lookout posts. John noted that Dorian had waited until they were no longer within range of the human-MX-DRN teams stationed along their route to speak.

“Yeah,” John agreed, keeping his voice low. “You argue like a champ, but I’ll say this: you’ve never called me by a name I hadn’t specifically approved.”

“Is that so, Sargent Whiskers?”

John winced up a grin. “Yeah, OK. Low charge aside.”

“As impressed as I am by your powers of observation, Reggie--”

“Hey. If I were any more observant, I’d have x-ray vision, pal. And I was talking about when we’re around other people.” The cruiser was Their Space.

“I was referring to Bob’s reluctance to go back to calling you Kennex.”

But that was thing that actually made some sense to John. “Hold up. Isn’t it in the DRN programming to want to be friendly with human coworkers?”

“Well, to a certain degree. The inclination is there but we can ignore it. Free will,” he explained. With quirked lips, he added, “But given recent observations, I think a couple of our teammates can guess why I call you John.”

John scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Great. Wait.” John stopped in the middle of the tunnel and demanded, “Don’t tell me Bob’s gonna be a fan now. I mean, you and I are, um--” Lovers. Friends. Best friends. “--partners. And Bob cannot be thinking I would want him underfoot or give him the same--just, no. I’m not dealing with that.”

Dorian smirked. “No fanbots, John?”

“I will shoot anyone who tries it.”

“I’ll make sure everyone gets the memo.”

“Yeah. Fantastic. Glad your network is good for something.” Something other than poking John’s paranoia in the eye.

Dorian frowned and took half a step, placing himself in John’s path. “John, the only data we share on the network are status updates. Location, charge levels, reports, database search results, things like that.” When John just stared at him, Dorian elaborated, “I’ve instructed everyone on our team to express their personal opinions and thoughts verbally. So you can hear it, too.”

So Dorian -- and probably Forney -- did remember how much it had irked John when they’d “talked” to each other on some radio frequency or other. John didn’t know what to say.

“I find that hard to believe,” he blurted which, naturally, offended Dorian. “No, not that you told them not to shut me out -- I appreciate the consideration--” And it was very considerate. More than John had thought he could realistically ask for. “--but those guys are way too quiet to not be bitching and moaning about one damn thing or other--”

“Is this paranoia talking or ego?”

“It’s the shining example you set. That’s what I’m basing it on.”

Dorian stared at him for a moment and, shit, John was in trouble. How much trouble he didn’t know. Wouldn’t know until Dorian retaliated.

And then he did: “Not only did you get the synthetic with the bleeding heart, but the one who wouldn’t shut up.”

OK, ouch. Before Dorian could stomp off, John lunged forward to grip the android’s arm. “That is not what I meant. Yeah, OK, maybe that was how it sounded, but damn it.” John forced himself to stop and dig out the words that he had intended to say: “I expect more from them because you’ve always given me 110%, D. Only, until I met other DRNs, I didn’t realize--” John shook his head, bemused, and confessed with a shrug and crooked smile. “You’re the standard I judge the rest by; you’ve ruined me for anyone else.”

And when Dorian smiled back, John knew the words had come out right this time.

“Bob’s preferences changed,” Dorian said, returning to the original issue and John knew that he and D were good. “That doesn’t happen without some sort of catalyst. Just like with humans.”

John nodded. “That was the nudge, huh?”

“Yes.”

John didn’t ask if Dorian was worried. Didn’t ask what they ought to do about it, either. There wasn’t much they could do; the ball was in Rudy’s court. “OK. Well, we’ve still got a suspected hit man somewhere around here. What do you say we see what Val’s up to?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Yeah. Plus, John was pretty sure Val wouldn’t be able to sniff out their cologne du olive oil. And even if the woman had the scenting capabilities of a bloodhound, John was confident she wouldn’t say anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you catch the fast one that John pulled? Back in "A Light That Never Goes Out," John tells Jake Bellman that there are DRN parts and chargers on the other side of the Wall, a selling point for getting the city to let DRNs (including Dorian) operate over there. But none of the DRNs have been using any of this. Maybe Rudy stepped in and advised against it?? (At least until he could be sure that the equipment was safe for use.)


	12. Overkill

“Dorian, you look like the cat that got the cream,” Valerie sang through one of her sparkling-eyed, Mona Lisa smiles. Before Dorian could do more than try -- and fail -- to look innocent (because Dorian had insisted on holding the hub door for John and John knew a long ogle on his ass when he felt it), she turned to John and wondered aloud, “You wouldn’t know anything about his little secret, would you, John?”

John rolled his eyes. “Fishing for gossip, Stahl? Really?” He shook his head. “And here I’d thought you were above all that.”

She laughed in his face.

“So that’s how it is?” he grumbled and then, in a stage whisper to D, muttered, “Watch -- she’s gonna want us to help her run down a suspect next.”

Dorian’s entertained expression melted away. “A suspected hit man who may be after you as well.”

And once Meade figured out that the DRN had failed his mission, the guy might resort to bullets. Lots and lots of bullets. Which John wasn’t all that happy about Dorian catching.

John snarked, “Well, yeah, so does that mean you’re gonna let me stay here all by myself, Mom?”

“I suppose not.”

Because Dorian would just worry about John the entire time. Which reminded John -- he still hadn’t acknowledged the fact that Dorian had saved his life. Again.

As soon as Val headed for her bunk to finish suiting up for their excursion, John cleared his throat. Dorian turned, expression expectant and John said, “You really busted your ass to get to me last night. After the shooting started.”

“Can’t let you have all the fun.”

“Yeah. Well, thanks,” John said, meaning it.

“Anytime, man,” Dorian answered, meaning it just as much if not more. “Search results are available on the suspect.”

With a pat to the DRN’s shoulder, John suggested, “Let’s see what our database has kicked out about Albertus Meade’s recent movements and known associates.”

Not much, as it turned out. Meade had been last seen by an MX on patrol twenty-six days ago and John didn’t think that the way he’d shuffled and limped, gimping along a known scrap route, was going to match up with the footage Stahl had of a very spry and mobile perp. The face was in line (94%), but unless the dude had recently recovered from a serious case of hemorrhoids, they were looking at some squirrelly shit going on.

Stahl agreed when John gestured for her to take a gander at the monitor: “Doesn’t look much like him.”

“Yeah, but there’s only one way to be sure.”

If this were any other recon mission, John and Dorian would have left with two DRNs, six soldiers, and six MXs. Standard patrol. But given the attempt on John’s life less than twenty-four hours earlier, Dorian demanded no less than four DRNs, eight army reservists, and ten MXs.

“Overkill,” John grumbled in a quiet aside as the team assembled at the hub exit.

“No killing whatsoever is the goal here, man,” Dorian retorted and John knew he wasn’t going to get any sympathy so he got crotchety.

“If the bad guy manages to get through this swarm and off me--” John gestured to the matrix of bodies he was supposed to cower in the center of. “--then I’d say the asshole has earned it.”

“John.” Dorian’s voice was flat and whatever ultimatum was coming would be very final. “Accept these precautions with good grace unless you’re interested in tonight’s weather report.”

Uh-huh. He didn’t need to hear it to know there was a storm brewing on the horizon. “I’m not being ungrateful. I’m just being--”

“Difficult. Stubborn. A pain in the--”

“Asteroid belt. Yeah, yeah. Message received.” Loud and clear. And, if their positions were reversed, hell yeah John would want D surrounded by capable men, women, and androids with orders to protect at all costs. “Let’s just get this show on the road already.”

John introduced Val to a small, homesteading community (unsurprisingly, they denied having seen Meade in the last four weeks), and then they stopped by to say hello to the bristly characters that guarded a precious scrap hoard.

“What you want with Meade, eh?” the eldest son of a disturbingly insular family challenged John, but John wasn’t fooled. There was a front man and then there was the real power: a wizened old geezer with an unkempt beard and dull eyes. Yeah, see, altruism was pretty rare in this place and anyone who couldn’t keep up was generally left behind. The fact that the old codger was still a visible member of the family pretty much proved he was as formidable as a steel trap.

John answered, “Meade’s got something I want. I’ve got something he wants. And there’s a finder’s fee for whoever sets up a meet.”

A finder’s fee. Generally a fully stocked med kit, a couple of thermal blankets, a few pairs of boots, iodine drops for treating drinking water, and some food supplement gel packs. That sort of thing. Whatever was a big hit down here and wouldn’t make these people more of a threat to John’s operation. This was how suspects got found. If grudging cooperation -- like Marjorie’s and Franks’ -- wasn’t an option, then hell yes John would bribe informants. He was here to get results, not reinvent Plato’s _****Republic.****_

“How long before we hear from them?” Val asked as they finished up their patrol before circling back to base.

John shrugged. “Longest was three days.”

“Or patrols spot the individual,” Dorian added and John nodded. That had happened a couple of times, too. Maybe word of the “bounty” had forced perps to try their luck elsewhere, flushing them out of the community they’d been hiding in before an opportunistic neighbor turned them in. The thing was, though, that the underground here was much like an island: there just wasn’t anywhere new to go. And sure, there might be uncharted tunnels, but they didn’t have access to the power grid, which meant there wasn’t much in the way of food being grown. People had to eat, so they’d have to venture out at some point.

John smirked, recalling the stats Dorian had cited last January about suspects often being apprehended at mealtimes.

But his humor didn’t last as the size of their patrol drew attention from every cluster of humanity they passed. “Come one, come all -- the circus is in town,” John groused and Dorian’s jaw clenched.

Huh. Looked like John was going to be getting that weather report after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My philosophy is showing (briefly) again here. The written work Plato's "Republic" was a systematically planned society that would supposedly create a sustainable government ruled by those with wisdom and experience. The goal was fair(ish) socio-economic opportunities that matched each citizen's unique potential to contribute. (Just about every student of philosophy cuts their teeth on tearing this to shreds. So I'm not endorsing it. It's just a classic example of how logic is not enough to found a civilization on.)


	13. Weather Report

“Was it really that difficult?” Dorian appealed once John had closed the apartment door and then kicked the bedroom door shut behind them. “Letting others look out for you?”

“It’s a fine line,” John admitted tiredly. What he wouldn’t give for a long, hot shower instead of the five liters of stale, recycled water he was allotted for washing his hair in a basin twice a week. His whole body ached at the prospect. Hell, he just ached period. “I get that, as a department asset, my life has value. My death is a potential lawsuit and--”

“John, you deserve to live.”

He grabbed his microfiber towel and shampoo. “That’s debatable, D.”

“I want you to live.”

And John couldn’t possibly argue with that. But he could try: “Don’t go spreading it around or they really will think you’ve gone crazy.”

“You wouldn’t let them. You’d cover for me like you did last night when I took it too far.”

“You glomped me,” John declared with relish, leaning in like he was back in high school. Lockers lining the halls and the object of his crush lined up in his hormonal cross hairs.

Dorian didn’t deny the “glomping.” Didn’t duck away from John’s smile, either. “Consider it classic fanbot behavior. And you didn’t shoot me.”

“Yeah, well.” He was really enjoying the tease of their close proximity. “I’m not going to tell you not to read too much into it because you will anyway.” Shaking a finger at Dorian’s charmed smile, John reminded him, “I’ve given you fair warning.”

And if John didn’t get a move on before the next catastrophe hit, who knew when he’d have another shot at honest-to-God, soap-and-water cleanliness. But…

Hesitating at the door, John queried, “So nobody had anything to say to you about that? The glomping?”

“Not a word. I think they were more surprised by your effort to take it in stride.”

“Hey, if I’d taken it in stride, we’d have ended up playing tonsil hockey in front of Val.”

“I appreciate your restraint.”

“I’d bet Val doesn’t.” John grinned and Dorian rolled his eyes. But he didn’t argue because John hadn’t imagined it: she thought he and D were hot together.

And, as definitely weird and skewed as it was, John was happy she thought so. Rudy and Val knew about Dorian and John, and Rudy and Val approved. Two for two. As records went, that was a pretty good start.

“I gotta wash up,” John said unnecessarily. “You’re not going to be creepy and watch, are you?”

“Of course I am, John.”

“Now, just--”

“It’s me or three other DRNs in my place. You choose.”

John huffed. “I should choose the three.” Just to keep up the appearance of some distance between John and Dorian, but hell. What would be the point? It was a little late to start acting like he didn’t depend on Dorian uniquely.

“You might think you should,” Dorian countered with a fat grin, “but you won’t.”

“Yeah. Because you’d get jealous.” And that observation earned John one of Dorian’s lopsided I’m-amazed-you-can-be-right smiles, which morphed into an I’m-amazed-by-what-you-put-up-with-for-me look as John contorted and shivered his way through his biweekly bathing routine. Fast and brisk and it didn’t matter that the small chamber with the drain set into the concrete floor was almost room temperature and totally private or that the water wasn’t freezing -- nothing was hot, so everything felt cold. It was probably the least sexiest thing outside of human plumbing issues, so: no, of course John didn’t want Dorian to watch, but he let him stand guard because Dorian needed to be there, between John and the possibility of an enemy attack.

John did his best to rub some warmth into his own sore body as he toweled off, but microfiber just didn’t generate the same friction as terrycloth.

“Here,” Dorian interrupted quietly, holding out a fresh pair of boxers and John bit back a moan as he pulled them on. They were warm. Toasty warm like he’d just pulled them from the clothes dryer and Dorian was wasting his charge on something as trivial as heated underwear, but John couldn’t bring himself to complain. For once.

Shirt, trousers, sweater, and socks -- all radiating heat from Dorian’s hands. John’s coffee warmer, clothes warmer, heart warmer. Tugging his belt tight, John pressed himself against the DRN and kissed him as those warm hands sifted through John’s damp hair, drying the strands much faster than a couple of laps around the hub could.

“Thank you,” John murmured, hugging the android’s waist tight.

“I believe that’s my line, John.”

Instead of picking a fight over how Dorian had no business thanking John for being selfish enough to damn both of them to this limbo, John nuzzled closer to Dorian’s lips, kissed him some more, and let the android finish drying his hair.

They emerged from the water closet to the sight of Rudy wincing his way out of his tactical gear with Val’s assistance.

“Hey, Rudy. How’s it looking?”

The man sighed. “Opaque, actually. Bob assisted with some surface scans of the DRN’s data logs and, so far, I can’t find any indication that he was programmed to target you specifically, John.”

“That’s not possible,” Dorian objected. “It must be there.”

“I agree,” Rudy said. “It must be. A DRN would harm himself before he caused injury, either deliberate or negligent, to a human being who was not engaged in criminal activity.”

Val asked John, “Unless there’s something you’re not telling us?”

Now that was a hell of an implication.

Dorian shifted to face off with Val. John put out a hand to stop him. “Hey. Calm down.” To Val, he admitted, “You’ve probably noticed I can’t do things by the book here. I do the best I can, but I have no way of knowing if my actions--” Or inaction in a particular situation. “--have harmed civilians.”

And it was conceivable that they had. The possibility tasted like ash in his mouth and his stomach threatened to cramp, but John had to be honest. He’d been targeted by a DRN for a reason. A DRN that had walked right past dozens of soldiers and gone right for John. It was hard to argue with standard programming. Something extreme had definitely set off that android.

“Right. OK.” Rudy nodded. “I’ll keep looking. And if I can borrow Bob tomorrow, hopefully we’ll be able to assess some of those charging pods.”

John waved a hand. “Yes, fantastic. Take him. He’s all yours.”

“That hurts, man,” a DRN voice said from over John’s shoulder and John spun, scowling at 806.

“Hey. I wouldn’t trust just anyone, here.” It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t a lie. And from Bob’s beaming smile, he was focusing a lot more on the latter than he was on the former.

“John,” Dorian said, “the captain is calling.”

“Yeah. Great. Let’s pow wow. Bob,” John instructed when the android moved as if to include himself in the briefing, “why don’t you charge up.”

“Please do,” Rudy encouraged, patting the DRN’s arm. “And give me a shout as soon as you’re at one-hundred percent.”

“Sure. Yeah. See you soon, Rudy. Have a good one, Joh--er, Kennex.”

“Uh-huh.”

With that mumbled dismissal, the DRN happily headed for his cubby. He didn’t even glare cattily at Dorian, who was clearly invited to the party. Bob was just thrilled to be important enough for Rudy to be making demands of him. Jesus.

MacKenzie was on comms duty and surrendered his post as soon as he handed off the headset.

“Captain,” John greeted, pressing a single earphone to his ear. “You’ve got me, Dorian, Val, and Rudy here. Shall I put you on speaker for the updates?”

“Please do, John.”

John flipped the necessary switches and tossed the ancient headset aside. He then gave a standard report on last night’s op, citing Dorian’s injury and the serendipitous timing of Rudy’s arrival.

Captain Maldonado said, “I suppose this means you haven’t had enough time to focus on the DRN facility yet, Doctor Lom?”

“Right you would be, Captain. It looks promising, but I’ll need at least two more days.” Which meant he wouldn’t be pulling out with the next changing of the guard.

“I see.” Sandra brusquely requested, “John, could I have a word with Rudy and Val in private?”

Val’s gaze slid toward John, who quirked a brow. Was there anything else that John didn’t know about their mission here?

She sighed and admitted, “John knows about Meade’s attempt on Jake Bellman.”

Clever Chrome. She was involving John, yes, but she hadn’t invited the captain to speak freely; she’d merely stated what John had already been read-in on. Oh, paranoia. Welcome back, pal. Beer?

“Look, D and I will just step outside, yeah?” John offered. Distracting himself with busy work was definitely better than standing here wondering what they weren’t saying. Or what they were saying in code.

“No, John. Stay,” Maldonado insisted because she knew him better than Rudy or Val did. Knew he’d leave not because he trusted them, but because he was afraid he couldn’t. “Any progress on locating Meade?”

John let Val take point on detailing their excursion, concluding with, “It seems like it could be a few days before we make contact.”

“Patrols are on it, too,” John added.

Interestingly, no one mentioned the DRN who had tried to snap John’s neck.

“Dorian,” the captain said after the information-share wound down, “how are you doing?”

“I’m fully recovered. Thank you, Captain.”

“Excellent. I’ll touch base with you all tomorrow.”

And then she signed off.

For a moment, no one spoke.

“We should have told her,” Dorian said, piling on to the already pressing silence, “about DRN 25.”

John should have seen this coming. This disappointment. It was so Dorian.

He held up a hand in abject refusal. “No. Just--no. We don’t have any answers yet and, as the captain, she would have to ask.”

“Still, John. The risks--”

“Are still contained,” Rudy interjected, gesturing for their attention. “This isn’t just about you or John. There are twenty-three DRNs out there,” Rudy continued, pointing beyond the door, “and they deserve a chance. DRN 25 must be an anomaly.”

“We can’t prove that.”

“Yet,” John tacked on.

Dorian argued obstinately, “This could be the onset of a systematic issue.”

_****Way to stay positive,****_ John didn’t start an argument by criticizing. Instead, he retorted forcefully, “Which is why you should give Rudy time to do his job.”

“But--”

“Shut up,” John barked and, when Dorian blinked, John added, “for me. Do me this favor, Dorian.” And because he wanted to pull the android close, wanted to frame the DRN’s face and make him _****understand,****_ John braced both hands on his hips and clamped his own jaw shut.

“Hey, guys?” Val ventured. “It’s getting late. How about some dinner? A little rack time? We’ll figure this out tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it,” John agreed. “D?”

_****You do know I don’t eat,****_ Dorian didn’t say. He didn’t say a thing. Didn’t move a finger, and John tensed. Standoff.

Because if John didn’t believe that he himself was worth saving then Dorian wasn’t going to fight for his own right to exist.

Son of a bitch.

“Val, love?” Rudy prompted, ushering her toward the door.

“Wait!” John huffed, throwing out a hand to stop them because-- “Look, D, I shouldn’t have said that, but damn it. My choices were to get angry or--I hate it when you talk like that, like you’re disposable or--or…” Or doomed, damned, damaged--

“And I hate it when _****you****_ talk like that.”

OK, yeah. John had clocked that and, this time, John didn’t stop himself from reaching out. Maybe his hands weren’t as steady as they could have been and Dorian would definitely notice, but he held his lover’s face gently and shuffled in close. So close that Rudy and Val disappeared from his peripheral vision as he whispered, “No one here wants to see me beg. It’s not a pretty sight.”

And… yes. There. A faint smile. “If you say so, John.”

“I do. And I say that you matter. You, me,” John was forced to admit on a shuddering breath. “Our whole team matters.”

Dorian’s fingers curled around John’s wrists. “OK.”

“OK? That’s it?” Hey, John could hardly be blamed for questioning such a sudden concession.

“That’s it. You’ve made a believer out of me.”

The corner of John’s mouth kicked up. “Yeah? Right in front of the choir?” He nodded to where Rudy and Val were still hovering.

“Yeah, man.”

Witnesses. John had never declared himself to Dorian in front of anyone, be it human or android. Well, here he was, heart in his hands and--yeah, OK. It wasn’t a proposal, exactly, but it wasn’t an impersonally generic Valentine’s Day holo card, either.

And judging from the expectant look Dorian was giving him, there was only one more thing he needed John to do. Right here, right now. John bent his knees, lowered his center of gravity just enough to align their mouths, and kissed him.


	14. Finder’s Fee

Finder’s fee. Worked every time. Well, provided that it was given a chance to. A guy just had to be patient.

Generally, John was not patient. At all. Which was why the finder’s fee method of rooting out suspects only paid off when John was up to his unibrow (and hell yes he still “tended” to it regularly) with gang activity and detainees to interrogate.

In the first fifteen hours following their four-person check-in with Maldonado, John and Dorian tag-teamed with Val against their current detainees from the agricultural facility, wringing them of as much information as possible before feeding them a hot meal laced with tracking solvent and sending them out with patrols to release.

The community that these assholes had targeted would be on the lookout for them, eager to exact revenge, and it wasn’t John’s job to get in the way. He ordered the MXs to monitor them, but unless it looked like they were regrouping for an attack on the soldiers or the hub itself, John doubted he’d see their faces again.

Tunnel justice. It wasn’t pretty, but there wasn’t a damn thing John could do about it, either.

He allowed himself to be distracted during evening downtime: a blissfully superficial game of Old Maid with Val, Dominic, and Sven, which was interrupted and stayed interrupted for nigh on the next thirty hours as John found himself caught up in a tailspin that started with a report of shots fired.

He and Dorian moved out with reinforcements to back up the patrol that had called it in and wound up spending the next day-and-a-half playing connect the dots between seemingly random outbreaks of guerrilla warfare between smatterings of ragtag gang members who had gotten their hands on some contraband weapons and just couldn’t wait to try them out. If the lack of “barcode” tattoos on the back of the necks and skulls of the dead and apprehended perps was anything to go by, then none were linked to InSyndicate. But like hell John was letting anyone take that malignant scum’s place.

Val generally held down the fort while John and Dorian were out and about, cycling through the hub every six hours or so for food and rest, a not-so-friendly chat with their increasing number of detainees, and -- in John’s case -- a game of tag with Bob.

Jesus, if John had once compared Dorian to an enthusiastic puppy… Hell. Bob was a damned duckling on a sugar rush. Every time John checked in on Rudy at the DRN facility, there he was, beaming and just about fidgeting with happiness. Kinda looked like he was doing one of those potty-dances that little kids jigged out in public places. And every time John came back from a combat situation, only the fact that he was armed and amped up on adrenaline kept the DRN from full-on hugging him.

John supposed that meant everyone had gotten the “no fanbots” memo.

After nearly two days of bracing himself against the DRN’s inexplicable enthusiasm and deliberately commanding him -- both verbally and with arm outstretched -- to _****back off, buddy,****_ John was seriously considering saying to hell with it and shooting the android. Maybe in the knee. Hobble him, y’know?

Naturally, Dorian was a colossal help; he thought the whole stupid song and dance was hilarious.

“You’re just irresistible, man,” John’s lover teased as they left Rudy to continue his work on DRN 25, and they left Val behind in the lab to pester her boyfriend into eating one of the MREs she’d just delivered. Because she was a nice significant other. Very thoughtful and considerate. What would it take to get her to give Dorian lessons?

In the middle of ticking his way through possible bribes -- and the list of what he had to work with in this hellhole was discouragingly limited -- the call John had forgotten to hope for came in: a patrol had a location on Meade.

Yes. God damn finally.

“Let’s roll out,” John crowed, executing a 180 in order to collect Val.

“John, we can’t,” Dorian objected. “Supplies are scheduled to arrive in a little over an hour.”

Damn it. Fine. “We’ll do the meet-and-greet. Then we’ll head out.”

Dorian objected: “We’re receiving new team members. DRNs.”

God damn it. John hadn’t forgotten; he’d just been hoping to deal with them later. But all things considered, maybe it was time to start delegating tasks. John was supposed to be the head honcho around here, wasn’t he?

“Hey, Bob! Got a job for ya,” John announced when they reached the lab threshold.

“Yes? Yes! What is it! How can I help, Joh--Kennex.”

Dorian bit back a snort, tucking his chin down against his chest to hide his grin and eh, what the hell. John was getting used to being called Joh--Kennex. “Think you can walk a couple of new guys through orientation after I activate them?”

“Yes! Absolutely. I can do that. Definitely.”

“If,” John provisioned, “Rudy here can spare you.”

“Um, yeah. Should be able to.” Rudy didn’t even glance up from the tablet screen that was showing him strings of code from inside DRN 25’s head. “Forney and Jackie can get through the rest of the charging pods today, I think.”

“Excellent. Val, we’ve got a line on Meade. Let’s suit up.”

A little over an hour later, John was staring at an informant and it didn’t take a bio scan to figure out that the teenager was reciting a script as he described the suspect in response to John’s belligerent challenge: “What makes you so sure you’ve found Albertus Meade, kid?”

The scruffy young man had probably been sent out here by an older relative who couldn’t skedaddle like they used to. Just in case things went pear-shaped. And, yeah, a dark part of John’s mind whispered that one less mouth to feed wouldn’t be considered a great tragedy by most families down here, so it was a sound strategy sending an expendable member of the group to claim the finder’s fee.

“OK, great,” John said, interrupting the uselessly repetitious description. It was highly doubtful that this boy had laid eyes on Meade himself. “Where do we find him?”

As the kid gave directions, Dorian nodded subtly, letting John know that he was tracking and that, yes, the path described matched up with known maps of the area.

Which still didn’t mean it was safe for them to just charge in there. John radioed for Val and the second team to circle around and approach the target from the west tunnel. Looked like John and Dorian were going to be trying their luck with the direct route. Oh so very much fun.

“Keep him company,” John said to the patrol, “and watch the perimeter.” He nodded to the soldiers who had accompanied him from the hub to lead on. Three teams -- Val’s coming through the backdoor, John’s via the front, and the patrol hanging back and holding position -- should be more than enough to corner a lone suspect. The real question was whether the denizens of these underground chambers would notice and, if so, what they would think of it.

They’d think John meant business, that was what.

_ ** **Ante up.** ** _

That was exactly what this felt like. These tunnels suddenly felt darker, narrower. Each stride more fateful. John could prowl the underground with dozens of competent, armed teams, but there was no getting aroundthe fact that -- if shit hit the fan -- there was no escape. For any of them.

Certainly not for Meade.

They found him huddled in a small cluster of shanties. Where the other residents were, John didn’t know; Dorian reported a single life sign: their quarry. A shivering mass of rags that barely twitched in response to John’s voice: “Albertus Meade! Front and center, pal, or we’re bringing the party to you.”

An indistinguishable groan.

John prompted Dorian: “Explosives? Weapons?”

“None, but my bio scan is detecting something.”

Yup, that stopped John in his tracks all right as he wondered exactly what kind of biological and chemical nastiness could get past his department-issued tactical mask, which he was in the process of snapping in place.

Dorian moved forward and John braced himself for any sudden movement from Meade or a trap of some sort. Crouching beside the pile of rags, Dorian reached out and, presumably, got close enough to gather more data. “Ah. Damn,” Dorian breathed.

“What? Is this Meade?”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

“Why’s that?”

“Renal failure,” Dorian said gravely, lifting his gaze to meet John’s. "It’s terminal."

Shit. Shit shit shit. John bit down on a curse and radioed Val to tell her the news.


	15. The Third DRN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: death of an original character

“He’s not the hit man,” Detective Stahl informed Captain Maldonado and there was nothing John could do but agree. Renal failure wasn’t the sort of thing that knocked a person flat overnight. It built up over days, weeks. Meade had been visibly ill at least a month ago. No way had he climbed or crawled his way past the Wall, dodged drones, and outrun police.

“So we’re looking at an impersonator,” the captain concluded.

Valerie nodded wearily. “Surgical procedures, micro-thin masks, facemakers…”

“I’ll get Detective Paul on it.”

“Yeah,” John mumbled, just as tired and discouraged as Val. And that was on top of being sick and tired of not being able to do a damn thing to clean up the dark, grimy corners: violence was answered in kind; treatable illnesses trickled needlessly into fatalities. Point in case: Meade. He was beyond saving and, even if John had wanted to, he couldn’t ease the man’s pain. All he could do was turn around and walk away.

That sure went a long way toward making John feel human, all right. So he swallowed the rage and focused his energies elsewhere: “And who’s going to be running down the other angle -- somebody wanted the shooting blamed on someone hiding on this side of the Wall.”

“I’m aware of the implications, John,” Sandra assured him.

Implications, yeah. John crossed his arms and shut up. Let Detective Stahl and Captain Maldonado hash it out and tried not to clue Dorian in to the fact that John had just landed himself in hot water. Big time.

“Anything else, Detective Stahl?”

“Not at this time, Captain.” Val didn’t even bat an eye as she yet again omitted the attempt on John’s life.

“OK. Detective Stahl, Doctor Lom, let me know as soon as you’re ready to book your seats on a convoy. And now I need a word with Detective Kennex.”

Val offered him a reassuring smile on her way out the door, held open by Rudy who was red-eyed and worn out from eighteen straight hours of staring at code as he tried to puzzle out the how and why of DRN 25’s actions. When Dorian shifted to follow them out, John reached past him, barring his way as he shut the door behind Rudy and Val.

“Stay,” John mouthed. It was more movement of lips than sound. Certainly far too quiet for the mic to pick up. And if Dorian stood right there, he’d be out of camera range, too. John waited until Dorian nodded once, and then he went and sat back down. Picked up the headset and put it on. See? John could be good and play along so that Sandra could say whatever needed to be said under the guise of complete privacy. Because John had never told her that Dorian had alternative ways of listening in and she’d never asked.

“OK,” John said. “Let’s hear it.”

“John,” Sandra said, “don’t identify with the people over there. You’re a cop.”

Yeah, John was a cop. He worked for the people who played by the rules. The people who depended on the law. The people who paid taxes, who contributed to society. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“I didn’t say you had.” She gave John a long, warm look. The kind of look John used to get from his dad whenever John had done something endearingly tragic. Like when he’d gotten the bright idea to frame his dad’s old patrolman’s jacket and had ended up destroying it in the process. Yeah, John and DIY -- not exactly the dream team. Which was why Pelham had helped him out with those shelves in his old trophy room.

“John, the city council is considering a bill to reinstate a permanent police presence over there. Not just a basecamp -- an actual precinct. With long-term plans to branch out to include brick-and-mortar schools and community centers. But the only way it’ll ever happen is if you stay objective.”

Blowing out a long breath, John rephrased: “Looking to shut us down before it comes to a vote, huh? Any excuse will do.”

“Don’t give them an excuse, John. That includes bias.”

John snorted and somehow resisted the urge to glance at Dorian. “Is that why you sent me three more DRNs? Because I’m so impartial when it comes to androids?”

Maldonado reared back. “Three? I didn’t approve three DRNs, John. Just two.”

John froze and he didn’t have to look to know Dorian was equally startled. “Two? Which two?”

There was a clatter as the captain scrambled through the tablets on her desk. Locating the most recent shipping manifest, she read, “Service numbers 447 and 1204.”

And as helpful as that information was, it didn’t answer the burning questions:

Who had sent the third and, if their aim was John’s demise, then why was he still breathing?

“Let me look into it,” John managed to enunciate.

“Keep me in the loop, John.” It wasn’t a request.

“Copy that.” John flicked the off switch. Pushed away from the setup abruptly enough to make the poor seat squeal with an eardrum piercing combination of pitch and volume.

Dorian had already planted himself in front of the door, arms extended to prevent John from barreling through the hub. “Two minutes, John. Please. I’ve just told Bob, who has just told Rudy.”

“Rudy have backup?” John needed to know and Dorian nodded.

“Of course. Sven and Ringo are keeping Val clear as--” The DRN hissed suddenly and John was this close to grabbing hold and shaking, rattling some informative syllables loose. “Good. He’s down. Forney drew his attention while Rudy deactivated him.”

“EMP spike?” John guessed, pissed off and relieved and so bone-weary that he didn’t know what to think. Where to start. How to let go long enough to sleep tonight.

“Something similar,” Dorian replied gently. “A wand that connects to the skull port, acclimates to a DRN’s unique energy signature and then delivers a counter charge that--never mind. It works. One-hundred percent reliable.”

“Yeah? OK. That’s something.” John squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled. He didn’t realize he’d swayed on his feet until Dorian’s hands were gripping his shoulders. Bracing him upright. Steadying him long enough for John to find and cling to one certainty in all this effed up mess: “Coffee. We’re gonna need lots of coffee.” Because if Rudy was burning the midnight oil on this one, then John and Val were going to be right there with him.

“I haven’t even begun my analysis, John,” Rudy said the moment Dorian deemed the hub atrium safe enough for John to enter it. As fun as it had been to be barricaded in a concrete room with his lover--wait, no. As fun as it _****could have****_ been because damn it, John had been too busy not freaking out to clock it until now. What a missed opportunity. Imminent threats sure had a way of putting a damper on the mood.

“Not here for an update,” John retorted. “Here to assist. Tell us what you need.”

What the man needed was a solid ten hours of shuteye, but since that wasn’t going to happen, Rudy requested the next best thing: their stowaway, DRN-0789, isolated in the DRN lab. So that was where Dorian, Bob, and Jackie took him.

“Hey, new guys -- Harrison and Mortimer.” John waved them over. “You’re with us. Let’s go.”

Val didn’t wait for an invite. She passed John an assault rifle to go with the handgun he was wearing and that was pretty much John’s definition of a correct password. First there’d been the bourbon and now this. Val was a shoe-in for badass of the year. She had John’s vote.

As they made their way down well-traveled tunnels toward the DRN facility, John dared to ask Rudy, “You been getting anything from Number 25?”

“Yes and no.”

“Hm. Wonderful.”

“No, I’ve got the code. That ‘nudge’ that Bob felt.”

“The one that targets a DRN’s most recent activation?”

“Yes. There’s something there. Very subtle and tied up with several subsystems. Mainly recognition and emotion regulation.”

“Uh-huh. If we assume this is from Vaughn -- and he intended to manipulate DRN behavior -- does that help at all?”

Rudy cocked a brow. “Assume the desired end in order to uncover the means?”

John shrugged. “Well, the last time he was down here, he was still interested in world domination, right? A DRN army?”

“Yes, which he thought he’d be able to get if Dorian shared his memory files with the DRNs still packed away in that storage unit.”

“When Vaughn showed up at John’s apartment,” Dorian spoke up from just ahead and, despite lugging the weight of a deactivated android and coordinating his steps with two other pallbearers, he didn’t sound strained at all damn it: “Vaughn was intending to initiate some sort of upgrade.”

John remembered. “Yeah. He didn’t have any hardware on him, so it must have been something else. Maybe coding?”

Rudy sighed. “Yes, coding. Which I’ve been staring at for nigh on three days straight and I’m still no closer to finding the source of the command that prompted him to attack you.”

“Well.” John shrugged again. “At least I can say I tried.”

“Angling for a gold star, John?” Val teased.

She sounded tired, so John gave her a break. “You bet. If I’m gonna rebuild my trophy room, gotta start someplace.”

It seemed kind of morbid to start here, in a cavernous lab with two identical and unmoving androids on their respective slabs. Not much call for the White Cheetah in this setting. Not much use for Detective Kennex, either.

He braced himself against a counter to watch the show.

Then, when nothing more than sedate murmurings happened from Rudy and Dorian, he prowled a bit.

Swapped frowns with Val.

Glared at Deranged Robot Number 25.

As the buzz of unanswered questions pressed suffocatingly close, John decided it was time to get creative.

“Hey, Val,” John called out.

She looked over. So did Bob.

Dorian didn’t. He was busy assisting. So was Jackie. Mortimer and Harrison were looking on as Rudy scanned and poked and prodded and muttered interesting swear words under his breath. Maybe they were picking up a few expletives for future reference.

Pointedly turning his attention away from their little autopsy event, John blurted, “What do you call a dead guy hanging on a wall?”

Bob’s chin twitched to the side, a subtle prompt for John to elaborate.

Val knew where he was going with this. She rolled her eyes and obediently answered: “I don’t know, John. What _****do****_ you call a dead guy hanging on a wall?”

“Art.”

She snorted, reluctantly amused. Bob giggled. Dorian shook his head, but didn’t look away from the screen Rudy had told him to scan for anomalies.

After about five minutes of industrious quiet, John launched a second volley: “What do you call a dead guy tied behind a boat?”

This time it was Bob who played along: “I don’t know, Joh--Kennex. What do you call a dead guy tied behind a boat?”

“Skip.”

The DRN threw back his head and guffawed at the ceiling. Loudly.

Gesturing for Bob to calm the hell down, John muttered, “OK, OK, it wasn’t that funny.”

“I disagree,” Dorian contributed in a bland tone. “It wasn’t funny at all.”

“All right, how about this one, Mister Critic: what do you call a dead guy in a mailbox?”

Dorian snarked, “Why don’t you tell us what you’d call him?”

“Bill.”

Bob doubled over and wheezed with mirth.

John frowned. “Hey, chill out over there or I’ll come up with one for your namesake.”

Val hummed. “What, like, ‘what do you call a dead guy floating in the water?’”

“Hah. Yeah. That works. What do you call a dead guy who’s been constipated for a year?”

“Richard?” Val suggested evilly.

Oh, John liked that one. Through a rolling chuckle, he corrected: “Phil.”

“Oh, gross, man,” Dorian opined.

“Bob thinks it’s funny,” John defended, nodding toward the delirious DRN.

“Thanks to that programming nudge, Bob thinks everything you say has been dunked in awesomesauce,” Dorian argued back.

“Yeah,” John drawled slowly, wondering just what the hell was up with the still-laughing android. His guffaws had turned disturbing loud. Bordering on screams of hilarity. “Hey, Bob. What’s the deal?”

“I--I don’t--I don’t know!” the DRN fairly shouted with genuine distress.

Jackie looked up from the scan he was performing on 789 and frowned. “Man, your core temperature’s rising.”

“I know! I can’t--can’t regulate--regu--John!”

John shoved himself off of the spare crate he’d been bracing against and lunged for the DRN. The android’s luminous eyes were wide with confusion and fear as he crumpled to the floor, landing in a heap right where he’d stood. By the time John reached him, his eyes were glowing almost white, face frozen.

“Bob!” John reached for the DRN’s shoulder and tried to shake him. Nothing. No response.

“Coming through!” Rudy bellowed and John windmilled back onto his heels. Watched as Rudy turned the DRN’s head and jabbed some sort of wand deal into the back of his skull and Bob’s eyes dimmed back to their usual DRN blue-gray before darkening to infinite black. If John had blinked, he would have missed the transition completely.

“What just happened here?” Valerie asked.

“Wouldn’t we all like to know,” John muttered.

Rudy nodded for Harrison and Mortimer to give him a hand. “Put him up on the table there. Ah, good. Much obliged.”

As Rudy started in on running a diagnostic, John sidled over to where Dorian was standing. The stream of code on the screen had been paused while the DRN frowned worriedly in the direction of Rudy’s newest patient. “Hey. You OK?” John checked.

“Yeah, man. Fine.”

“You ever--” John nodded in Bob’s direction. “--ever see something like that?”

“Actually, yes.” Dorian met John’s gaze and said, “Five years ago. Several DRNs were documented displaying similar bouts of manic behavior. Before they killed themselves.”

John jerked back in denial. “What? No. They were traumatized. Despondent. Nobody died…”

John circled an arm through the air, searching for a less ludicrous word, but there was really only one that fit and Dorian solemnly supplied it: “Laughing.”

“OK--” John would concede to the phrasing. “--but he’s not dead. He’s just overloaded or…” Before he started babbling nonsense, John redirected the conversation. “Besides, when did you see those other DRNs wigging out?”

“Archival footage. At Rudy’s lab.”

“Dorian.” John shook his head. “You shouldn’t be watching that stuff. You know we’re not gonna let anything like that happen to--”

“John,” Rudy interrupted, lowering his hands to the side of the table and looking up. Features drawn. That look. John knew it well: he’d been on the receiving end of it and he’d felt it from the inside too many times as he’d contacted mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, children--

_ ** **“I regret to inform you…”** ** _

“He’s dead,” Rudy rasped.

John refused to believe it. “I don’t understand. How can that be? You just shut him off.”

Rudy’s throat worked as he looked down at his patient. Val came up to his side and put a hand on his shoulder, rubbing circles of comfort. “His circuits have fused. Melted. There’s nothing I can do for him. I mean, I could replace the hardware -- in theory -- but that won’t bring him back. The DRN we know as ‘Bob’ is gone.”


	16. Virus

Gone. Dead. A DRN had died on John’s watch. Had dropped dead right in front of him. And the last thing the android had said was John’s name.

“It’s me,” John realized, breaking the silence. “I activated DRN-806 -- I woke him up -- and that nudge did something to--what--bond him to me? And then was I telling those jokes, winding him up…”

At any other time, Dorian would have heckled, “If you can call those ‘jokes.’” But he said nothing in response to John’s seeking look and John was forced to suggest, “Bob was reacting to me.”

Shit. Damn it. Fuck.

Jaw clenched, John fought against the urge to toss a table across the room. Maybe bowl over a couple of the recently-approved-for-use DRN chargers with it.

A waste of energy and John didn’t have any to spare. Not today. Not if he was going to have any hope of fighting back the wave of guilt that reminded John of just how little time and attention he’d given Bob. Despite the android’s loyalty. Enthusiasm. Devotion.

In a flash of understanding, John spun around and pointed at Number 25. “What do you want to bet Vaughn activated him?”

Rudy took a moment to consider it. “But that still doesn’t explain why he went after you specifically.”

Valerie put up a hand. “Actually, it might. You’ve been in the news recently, John.”

“Why?” Dorian asked simply before John could decide whether to scoff or bluster. He’d thought she and Rudy had been pulling his leg. The real one.

“The upcoming vote,” she explained, echoing the rationale behind the captain’s earlier warning for John to be on his best behavior. “City council will be voting on a bill to allocate more funds over here. A lot of people are curious as to who’s here now and what’s been done so far. With the case closed, your involvement in apprehending Vaughn is a matter of public record.”

John crossed his arms and, no, he did not give a damn over how defensive he might look. “Wonderful. So what you’re saying is that my life story makes for fun entertainment.”

“Well, it’s now common knowledge that you have a DRN partner and the two of you played a key role in Vaughn’s incarceration.” She looked over her shoulder at Number 25 and mused, “If his bond with Vaughn is anything like what Bob seemed to be developing for you, that could explain his extreme behavior.”

“But how did he find out? That D and I took Vaughn down?” That was the $64,000 bitcoin question.

Rudy proposed very pragmatically, “A trip to the surface? Satellite transmission?” As he spoke, the scientist jogged over to the DRN in question and started tapping away on his hand-held tablet. “This isn’t a dead zone just because the city built a wall around it.”

Very true. And the watch command regularly tracked individuals meandering through the desolate streets above ground. Could this be why? Someone with a receiver was gathering news and intel at periodic intervals? Even if that were the case, then--

“Let’s say that Number 25 over there was programmed to be completely devoted to Vaughn and he realizes that I’m to blame for locking the guy up,” John speculated. “So he comes after me -- to kill me instead of try for a hostage exchange?”

It didn’t make sense.

Val tilted her head to the side. “You wouldn’t hunt down the person responsible for harming Dorian or taking him away from you?”

John floundered. “OK, I’d be tempted, but I’d want the son of a bitch to know I was coming for him in advance.” Because John had been in that dark head space before: he’d cornered the piece of shit that had killed his friend Trevor Cooper. Two bullets in the gut hadn’t put the fear of God and the certainty of death into Alexio Barros. Nope, the asshole had sneered at John and taunted him, so confident that he’d come out of those steam tunnels alive, so positive that his status as a police captain would lead to a mistrial.

A bullet between the eyes had shut him up. Permanently.

But that still hadn’t made John feel better. It hadn’t shaved off a layer of guilt. Hadn’t budged his sense of failure or eased the regret at not having been there when Coop had needed a friend to have his back.

That bullet hadn’t made it easier to sleep at night. John had known that it wouldn’t even before he’d pulled the trigger. But he’d done it anyway. Maybe that was what was going on here? Maybe DRN Number 25 simply hadn’t been able to stop himself.

“Ah, here it is.” Rudy’s throat worked as he scanned the data readout on the tablet screen. “Val may have the right of it. I see dozens of downloads from television and radio. But since I was looking for signs of his programming being manipulated directly, I didn’t think to…”

He swiveled around as his words faded to indistinct mumbling and, with a couple of keystrokes, opened the files in a series of cascading windows on the nearest monitor.

A video popped onto the screen. A news anchor that John vaguely recognized droned, “The man in charge of the rehabilitation efforts on the other side of the Wall is an acting Delta Division detective by the name of--”

And then a radio host’s excited voice overpowered the TV broadcast: “John Kennex who -- get this! -- has a DRN partner. In this day and age. Wow, right? Well, these two put together a sting that landed Nigel Vaughn in custody--”

Rudy turned down the volume and gestured to several news articles. “It’s all here, John. Dorian. You’re the ones who put Vaughn away.” He sighed. “I should have noticed this sooner. These files haven’t even been archived yet -- they’re still in short-term memory. At the forefront of the DRN’s mind, as it were.”

“You were looking for signs of reprogramming,” Val reassured him. “This is completely different.”

She had a point, but…

Rudy looked over at Dorian, who was frowning and yup. John knew what they were both thinking -- the same thing that John was thinking.

Vaughn had done something like this before. He’d used a DRN’s own programming to do the heavy lifting. With an executable file, he’d kicked off the process of Dorian incorporating organic memories into his operating system not just so that Dorian would think like Vaughn but so that Dorian would _****become****_ Vaughn, idealistic motivations and grand ambition included. And now, with a few subtle tweaks to a DRN’s emotion regulators, Vaughn had created an android that was capable of avenging the person who had activated it.

Jesus.

Thank God that John still had other questions to ask or Val was going to wind up figuring all this out for herself and, for Dorian’s sake, John needed these facts to stay contained. “But still, how did he get that far out of control? Why didn’t Number 25 have a meltdown like Bob?”

“Um, I think I may be able to answer that,” Jackie said slowly. Irritatingly, the android didn’t elaborate verbally. He merely pointed to the monitor screen attached to their uninvited pal du jour -- DRN-789 -- and then got out of Rudy’s way as the man hustled over to take a look.

“Ah, yes. A virus,” Rudy breathed moments later, caught up in reading the lines of code gibberish. “I see how this viral program behaves. Rudimentary -- whoever designed this either had no intention of hiding it or lacked the skill for stealth--”

Val suggested worriedly, “Or they never expected anyone to go looking for it?” Glancing toward Dorian, she reminded everyone, “You said the other DRNs behaved similarly when they malfunctioned years back.”

“That’s entirely possible,” Rudy assessed. “If this virus is meant to mimic the past erratic behavior of those DRNs… well, yes. Just by boosting core temperature and disabling the regulators, it does cause similar symptoms that might be written off as a reemergence of the old malfunctions.” Shaking his head, the scientist concluded, “So simple but no less malicious for it. Whoever designed this wants the DRNs gone for good.”

Gone for good. John stared at Dorian and yeah, John knew he looked angry, but Dorian didn’t look like he was taking it personally because they both knew that this was the only way John could deal: get angry and then get even.

“I have it, too,” Jackie volunteered quietly, throwing a verbal wet blanket on top of the deathly silence in the cavernous room.

Rudy’s chin jerked up and the android added, “I just performed a self-diagnostic scan. I have the same viral code in my system, Doctor Lom.”

He wasn’t the only one. John felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as Mortimer and Harrison each gravely confirmed the presence of the virus in their own systems.

“Right.” Rudy nodded slowly. “Anyone who exchanged data with 789 would be susceptible. Dorian, we’d best have a look at you as well.”

John felt like his entire body was made of stone, frozen with denial, helpless to do anything but watch as his lover moved forward to comply. As the DRN passed by, the hand closest to John twitched and this tiny thing was what broke John out of his paralysis. He grabbed Dorian’s hand, clasped it hard, and promised in wordless silence that Dorian wasn’t alone.

With a determined nod, John let his partner lead him over toward Rudy so that the man could get to work.

After the longest fifty-seven seconds of John’s life, Rudy confirmed with a silent nod: Dorian was also carrying the virus.

“Should we tell the others?” Jackie asked, sounding disturbingly stressed.

“No,” Dorian answered calmly. His composure was probably forced and John admired him for the effort. Hell, if John had learned that he had a blood clot in his brain that, if poked or prodded would trigger a lethal aneurysm, he wouldn’t be calm. Wouldn’t even look calm. He’d be a mess. He’d stop postponing that date with the nearest bottle of bourbon because a bomb around the neck was one thing -- something John could get his hands on and fight back against -- but this was something else entirely. Which John was trying really hard not to think about right now, thanks.

Dorian argued, “If this virus piggybacks on raw emotion, causing a panic could get someone killed.”

Jackie nodded. Mute with what could only be building terror.

“Hey,” John said, using the tone that tended to soothe people in a crisis -- the same tone he’d used with Paige in the Sanderson building. The tone that had netted critical information and helped bring an end to the hostage situation, so it was a good tone. Proven effective. “Hey, you seen Goku’s art project? The sphinx turned out pretty good.”

“Y-yes, I saw… um.”

Aw, shit. John wasn’t going to be able to distract the DRN well enough. He could see it already. Because as human-like as DRNs were, they were still androids and there was no way a little chitchat or an amusing anecdote could compete against millions of computations per second.

“I think,” Jackie blurted, “I think I’d like to be deactivated.”

“OK,” John agreed as Rudy collected the wand. “OK, Jackie. We’ll let you get some rest and when you wake up, everything will be fine.”

The sight of the DRN’s eyes going dark wasn’t so much a forfeiture as a silent countdown to the point of no return. In the back of John’s mind, the seconds ticked away like gunshots, one of which could, at any moment, mean Dorian’s demise.

This was turning into a reoccurring theme: back in December, Dorian had walked off when Vaughn had taken him over from the inside with seemingly innocuous and supposedly inert organic memories as his weapon of choice; and then, in January, Dorian had been dangerously close to ending up on the scrap pile as the city council had scrambled to douse the flames of a political inferno; and now this. Jesus.

Making love to Dorian the other night -- if the timing had been different, if the new DRNs had arrived with Rudy and Val, then Dorian would have already been infected and could have died from emotional overload and spiking core temperature and--

John wrestled back the mounting terror. The last thing Dorian needed right now was to notice his burgeoning panic.

Pure, flaming panic because yeah, if this was their track record so far, then John was afraid to ask what kind of fireworks they’d have front row seats to on the Fourth of July.

Because, as sure as shit, they hadn’t seen the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a recent AH fan chat, an interesting fact came up: John appears to get away with destroying androids (an MX in Pilot and another in You Are Here, and he's blamed for a third's demise in Arrhythmia even though that chain of events was set off by DRN-494) AND John apparently gets away with killing a police captain (Alexio Barros, a.k.a. the Bishop in episode The Bends) who is a corrupt drug lord, but still. One would think that the forensic science used in 2048 would reveal that final kill shot as having been an execution? So, I figured John was being protected (possibly but not necessarily by Sandra) because of his importance in bringing InSyndicate down? It was just a thought that I'd had that I never really developed into part of the narrative so it's still background noise. Not sure if I'll do anything with it in the future but there it is.


	17. Speculation

“InSyndicate,” John bit out, his gaze flicking toward Val as Rudy started typing and swiping at super speed, dissecting the virus and composing a program to erase it safely. “I have yet to see anything that convinces me those assholes aren’t involved in all this.”

John reaffirmed his grip on Dorian’s hand. This was the only way John could help: he could stay close and he could suss out (and eventually hunt down) the bastards responsible. Getting thoroughly pissed off was just an added bonus. One that John wouldn’t say no to because, like he’d told D in the comms room the other day, his choices were to get angry or lose it completely.

Val nodded her head slowly in thought. “You see a connection? Between the attack on Jake Bellman and this virus that targets DRNs?”

“Isn’t that _****your****_ job: finding patterns in criminal activities? Or don’t behavioral analysts do that kind of thing anymore?” John goaded.

She snorted and John grinned because, yup, that had been pretty much word-for-word what Val had said to John when they’d first met. At the crime scene in South Kelvin. The InSyndicate truck heist last April. “Real cute, John.”

Well, he’d thought so, but that might be bias talking. “Like you said back when Meade was a viable suspect, maybe there’s something down here -- some weapon or resource -- that we’re preventing them from getting to. So they target Bellman. And when that doesn’t fly, they try to take out the DRNs.” With a lackadaisical shrug, John further speculated, “Even if Number 25 over there had managed to snap my--”

“Don’t say it,” Dorian interrupted quietly but firmly.

John closed his mouth, and then changed tack, but he didn’t lower his voice. It’d only be an insult to the androids in the room. “If Vaughn’s DRN targeted me out of revenge, we can count that as an aberration. Focus on the shooting and this virus.”

“You’re suggesting that the ultimate goal is the removal of the DRNs,” Valerie mused. “There’s something present here -- either digital or physical -- that they can detect.”

“Yeah.” Because nobody was trying to pulse MXs these days, were they? They weren’t releasing a biological or chemical agent to take out the army reservists or John, either. Yet. So there had to be something about the DRNs that presented an obstacle or a threat. “The hit on Bellman wasn’t successful. If it had been, the driving force behind this op would have disappeared, funding would have dried up--”

“--and the program would have been shut down,” Val finished. “They couldn’t get the city to withdraw the DRNs, so they moved on to Plan B.”

Plan B, which had more loose ends: someone had fudged the documentation for the DRN transfer after the data had left Maldonado’s desk and before it had arrived at the Wall. Plus, someone had crafted and installed the virus itself. There was more than one electronic trail to follow. More ways for the perp responsible to be traced.

Rudy huffed. “I still don’t see why the removal of the DRNs isn’t the ultimate aim in this instance.”

“It might be,” Val allowed and John argued, “But if this is local, then we’d better deal with it. Fast.”

“And if they’ve got a specific target in mind,” Val said, “that begs the question--”

“What’s down here that InSyndicate -- or the next generation of gangs -- wants so damn badly?”

And they wouldn’t be getting an answer to that without the help of John’s DRN team. But it wasn’t like John could call an emergency brainstorming meeting right now. Not until this God damn virus was dealt with. But that didn’t stop him from nudging Dorian.

“Awfully quiet there, pal. You have anything to add?”

Dorian shook his head. “I wish I did. Unless there’s something here in this facility -- right here -- that they want or are afraid of.”

“Yeah,” John drawled slowly. “Seems unlikely that a gang would appreciate the kind of software adjustments that Vaughn made to Number 25. Too subtle.”

“And dependent on who had activated each DRN.”

Rudy suddenly tossed his two cents in: “Of course, that’s assuming that they understand the programming alterations correctly.” Glancing up from John to Val to Dorian, he reminded them, “This wouldn’t be the first time Vaughn misled others for the sake of personal gain.”

Right. It was no secret that Vaughn was capable of a scheme like that. So it was entirely possible that InSyndicate (or the twisted phoenix attempting to rise from the gang’s ashes) was after something that didn’t even exist. Fantastic.

“Kind of hard to bait a trap if we don’t know what it is they want,” John muttered, “and we won’t be able to get our hands on it if it’s fictional to start with.”

“It very well might come down to this guy,” Rudy pointed out, nodding toward 789. “Who programmed him, altered the documentation, and made sure he ended up on the transport.”

An old-fashioned pursuit of a suspect it was, then. Unless they got really lucky and manged to stumble upon the proverbial buried treasure. Sure, it’d be nice to be able to get out ahead of this thing -- set up a trap and let the perps do all the work of incriminating themselves -- but John wasn’t about to hold his breath.

But then, a thought came to him. Like a lightning strike.

He mused aloud, “The inventory of Vaughn’s lab that Paul put together a few months back -- that been updated at all?”

“Not that I know of,” Rudy answered and Val blinked, a light dawning in her eyes.

It was Dorian who put it into words: “Only four hundred and forty-nine ZNA processors were located.” One of which had been used in the captain’s android doppelganger, but where were the other fifty?

“Maybe we do know what they’re after.” John eyed DRN No. 25 and drawled, “What do you wanna bet he’d know where they are?”

“Oh, my God,” Val breathed and Rudy volunteered, “I will get right on that. Just as soon as our DRN friends are good to go.”

Val added, “The captain should be able to reach out to DHS. About those processors.”

But if anyone down here thought they could get their hands on high-grade tech like that, then wouldn’t that be motive? Hell, maybe someone had given those broadcasts to Vaughn’s DRN, setting him on a suicide mission because if the android were destroyed, it would guarantee that the tech remained in its hiding place… at least until it could be retrieved. The removal of John’s team would only be an added bonus. Maybe that was the opening these perps needed in order to go after the processors.

He asked Val, “So what does our resident behavioral analyst say about an action plan on that angle?”

“I’d say that it’s time to update the captain.”

John seconded that, and he was itching to get back to the comms station and make that call, but Dorian. Dorian wasn’t about to let John out of his sight and John wasn’t about to pull Dorian away from the one person who could eliminate the deadly virus currently enjoying a little kumbaya campfire time in his coding.

So John radioed for a patrol on approach to escort Val back to the hub. “Have the DRN on duty connect the call and then ask him to leave.” Looking at Dorian, John checked, “Is anyone going to be eavesdropping? Can they?”

“Not if they leave the room.”

“Thanks, Dorian.” Val gave him a brave smile. “You’re going to be just fine.”

“I know. I’m in good hands.”

John felt himself smile as Dorian’s fingers tightened briefly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Like a whisper in John’s ear: _****“I’m not letting you go, man.”****_

Still, there was a part of John that would probably always object, always point out as obnoxiously as possible that Dorian could do better.

And maybe he _****could****_ do better, but he apparently didn’t _****want****_ better. He wanted John, so John was going to do his best to be That Guy. The guy worthy of that kind of faith.

John probably had better odds of living up to his lover’s hopes and expectations than he did at convincing Dorian to see reason. DRNs really were unnervingly similar to humans: blind fools, both. And there was just no accounting for taste.


	18. Breaking the News

If Maldonado was angry with John for not getting on the horn himself to give her the sit rep she’d been waiting on, it didn’t show. Probably because John was so far past the point of exhaustion that he wouldn’t even notice cockroaches in his MRE. Live ones.

It had been a long, long nerve-wracking night. John had pretty much held his breath, tracking Rudy’s every move like a hawk as he’d clutched Dorian’s hand to the point that John’s knuckles had turned white and he’d lost feeling in his pinkie.

“I’ll be fine,” the DRN had dared to assure him and John had returned fire: “God damn it, Dorian. You’re letting a perfectly good opportunity to heckle me for barely keeping my shit together go to waste.”

“John. I’ll be fine.”

“I heard you the first time.”

“And you’re still not listening. Not ready to believe that everything will be OK.”

“Oh, would you just--no psychoanalyzing me. Just, stop it.”

“So I should let you worry about nothing.”

“This isn’t nothing.”

“It will be. You’ll see.”

Goddamn androids. But John hadn’t been able to bring himself to say anything that might put a dent in Dorian’s confidence. Hell, his lover’s quiet self-assurance and clear faith in Rudy’s abilities hadn’t just soothed John. There’d been Harry and Mort to keep in mind.

So John had distracted himself by asking the new guys what they’d been up to on their first day. Poked and prodded for details until John thought he’d been perforated by the minutiae of a DRN’s day.

“Ah-hah! Got you, you little bugger,” Rudy had crowed with vicious victory and John had thought, “This is it. D’s gonna be OK now.”

So, naturally, Dorian had refused treatment. “The others first, Rudy.”

“Dorian,” John had snarled quietly.

“John. I know what I’m doing, man.”

John had seriously doubted that; wasn’t there supposed to be something written into the android’s programming that prevented him from turning into a sadist? But OK, fine. He’d let Dorian torment him. Arguing had the potential to get Dorian wound up in all the worst ways. But later, once this virus was squashed out of existence, all bets would be off.

“John?” Captain Maldonado prompted. “Is Dorian all right?”

“Yeah,” John coughed, overcompensating for his exhaustion by nearly barking the word. Rubbing both hands over his face, John round-about apologized for snapping, “He made the two new guys -- Mort and Harry -- get clean first. Then Jackie, who’d asked to be deactivated before he could freak out. Hell, Sandra, if any of the other DRNs had known about the virus, he’d have waited until they were in the clear. What a pain in the ass. Why the hell did you force that obnoxious android on me?”

Sandra smirked. “You’re welcome. Where’s he now?”

“Charging. Rudy’s wiping the virus from the rest of the DRNs. Told them it’s a routine follow-up to the diagnostics everyone got the other day.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“Yeah.” John didn’t even have to think twice about it. “Of course.” How could they understand the stakes and protect themselves if they had no idea what kind of threats were out there or how closely this latest one had come to hitting the mark? “You going to send me a counselor for these basket cases?”

The captain shook her head in wry amusement. “You and Dorian just do the best you can.”

“Uh-huh.” As usual, then.

“So InSyndicate is behind this?” she prompted and John made himself sit up straight and focus.

“Makes sense, doesn’t it? We just need to figure out the location of their target here and we’ll be on our way to getting some answers. How’s Richard doing on the Bellman case?”

She sighed. “It’ll be good to have Detective Stahl back. You know how the Chrome community can be.”

“Not particularly, but I’ve got a pretty good imagination.”

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re not generalizing from the kids you interviewed at Mendel?”

“Christ,” John huffed. “Don’t tell me the parents are just bigger versions of their asshole kids.”

“What, and take away all your illusions?” She smirked.

John snorted. “What a pal.”

“So what’s your game plan?”

“Detainees. Somebody’s got to know something.”

“Keep me updated.”

“Copy that.” With a heavy sigh, John reached forward to terminate the call. God damn it, he was not looking forward to the next point on his action item list, but there was no putting it off.

He pushed himself away from the comms setup and stood. Squared his shoulders. Stomped over to the door and wrenched it open. And he still had no idea what he was going to say -- how he was going to break the news--

“Hey, Kennex, man. What’s going on?” Pierre wanted to know. He’d been on comms duty when John had shown up and hadn’t had anything better to do while John had been updating Maldonado besides watch Rudy flit from one DRN to another on the pretense of those follow-up scans.

Yeah, of course he’d figured out that something was up. If John’s own body language hadn’t clued him in, then Val’s and Rudy’s certainly would have.

But no. Wait. John was getting ahead of himself. Pierre was probably wondering what all the hubbub had been about earlier when Rudy had deactivated one of their newest team members and Dorian had helped carry the android off to the lab for evaluation. Yeah. Sure. That was a lead-in John could work with. Whether he wanted to or not.

“Yeah,” John breathed. “Come with me, Pierre.” John waved an MX over and posted it at the open doorway with instructions: “Monitor the radio. Alert DRN-0167 on any transmissions.”

“Copy that.”

John herded Pierre through the bustling atrium toward the DRN dorm where Rudy had assembled his field lab. Ringo was just climbing down off of the table as John crossed the threshold.

“Is this everyone?” John asked Rudy.

“Um, one more. Goku, I believe you are last but not least?”

At least Rudy had managed to streamline the process by this point; John only had to endure the inquisitive glares of two dozen DRNs for a grand total of eight minutes before Rudy set his tablet aside and Dorian stepped out of the nearest charger.

“All clear, John,” Rudy proclaimed with no small amount of gravity, and it was John’s turn to speak, but he still didn’t know where to start. He floundered.

“Today’s logistics shipment?” Dorian suggested quietly, angling himself toward John in a show of support.

John thanked him in silence, with a pat to the android’s lower back, and cleared his throat. “Our three newest team members: Harrison, Mortimer--” Both DRNs nodded in response to the quick glance John sent in their direction. “--and DRN-0789 -- Russel. Only two of these were approved by Captain Maldonado.” John gestured to Harry and Mort. “Russel was sent along to crash the party.”

“Why?” Sven demanded and John cued Rudy who said something about viral programming and temperature regulators and John let it all go over his head as he studied the face of each android: the betrayal and horror and dread.

“But you’re all fine now,” Rudy hastily reassured his audience. “The virus has been completely erased.”

Adam looked up from the floor and asked Dorian, “Where’s Bob?”

When Dorian hesitated, John put a hand on his shoulder. To his team, John said, “The virus. We’ve lost him. I’m sorry.”

As condolences went, it was pretty sparse, but more words wouldn’t make the news any easier to hear. In fact, it’d only unveil John’s own fury and he had to be steady right now. Because even though John was to blame for activating DRN-789 -- allowing a saboteur into their midst and endangering his entire team -- this moment wasn’t about John. It was about Bob.

When James asked, “What comes next?” John answered.

“We honor him.”

And that was what they did.


	19. False Assumptions

A funeral for a DRN.

Of all the things John never would have expected to be an event in his life.

A year ago, John would have accused his present-day self of sniffing glue. But now John had the sneaking suspicion that he was the glue holding these DRNs together.

With everyone gathered around Bob’s inanimate form in the DRN lab, silence faded into fidgeting and John knew he should just keep his head down. He really did. Because the instant he gave in to the tingle of being watched and looked up and around, John found himself the focus of pleading gazes and-- oh, hell.

Damn it. OK, fine. He could swing a simple eulogy. Sure thing.

John might not know a damn thing about how DRNs worked, but he was pretty sure he could guess how these guys were feeling right now. Mortality. It wasn’t just the act of being shut off, wondering if you’d ever be woken up again. This virus was the muzzle of a gun aimed right between the eyes. This was what Dorian had confronted on the 25th floor of the Sanderson building. For that reason, John was tempted to nudge Dorian to take the floor, but one glance was enough to shut him up. Dorian wasn’t ready to talk.

Yeah. John knew the feeling.

Clearing his throat, John sucked in a breath and opened his mouth. “Whenever a teammate falls, the loss is felt by everyone. And it should be felt because every one of us is an integral part of an entire unit.”

John lowered his gaze to the prone android. Unnervingly black eyes stared up at the ceiling and John’s hand twitched with the instinct to press the DRN’s eyelids closed. At rest. Peaceful.

In lieu of that symbolic farewell, John said, “DRN-806 -- Bob -- will be missed. He was more than just willing to protect and serve. He was happy to. He was a good cop.”

“He was a good cop,” Dorian echoed and, one by one, the others murmured their agreement.

“And a good friend,” Rudy added.

“And we,” Dorian quietly but firmly declared, “are going to find out who did this.”

John tried not to react, but he still felt his heart leap within his chest. His hands twitched as if they might fist. Did he agree with Dorian’s sentiments or want to strangle him for making that rash promise? Equal odds.

Thank God somebody else killed what was turning into one hell of an awkward moment.

“The ones responsible are here?” Sven bleated, voicing the confusion and doubt everyone was probably wrestling with right now and John supposed that was the best lead-in he was going to get.

He said, “Our working theory is that concealed tech is the end goal here.”

Dorian spoke up. Sensibly this time. “It’s possible that our presence is preventing an individual or group from acquiring a significant resource on this side of the Wall. Perhaps something we can detect but MXs and humans can’t. So that’ll be our first objective: identify potential targets. Stand by for your patrol assignments.”

Not a word of protest. True, there usually wasn’t, but the very air around them seemed to snap as sorrow sharpened into single-minded determination.

“What can I do?” Val wanted to know and Rudy reminded everyone present, “Well, I’m due to take a hard look at Vaughn’s DRN. See if his archived memory files hold any data on where Vaughn may have hidden his own personal cache of robotics.”

John turned to Val. “Would you rather chill out with Rudy or dig in?”

“What do you think?” she retorted, fire in her eyes, and John rolled his chin in the general direction of the hub. “Let’s interrogate some detainees.” He patted Dorian on the arm. “You staying with Rudy or…?”

“Yes, if you could use a hand?”

The man smiled gently. “Assistance would be most appreciated, and a friend even more so.”

One thing was for sure: if the detainees had an ounce of sense, they’d appreciate Valerie Stahl with a whole lot of respect. Hell, if John weren’t a cop, he’d feel kind of sorry for the poor schmucks.

But John _****was****_ a cop so he goaded and riled each gang member into Val’s cross hairs where she took them apart -- stripped their psyche down with ruthless skill. She leaned in, smiled warmly, doled out sympathy, and invited confidence. Utterly disarming. And completely underhanded. It wasn’t so much a strategy of “Good Cop, Bad Cop” as “What you see is what you get” versus “You don’t realize you’re in hot water until you’re served with the soup course.”

John was vinegar. Val was honey. No surprise every detainee she charmed ended up implicating themselves in a slew of illegal activities. Even giving away some hints as to their ranking within their own gang. One after the other, the poor bastards were felled by Stahl’s kindly charm and devastating beauty.

John had never been gladder to not count himself among her conquests.

“Only two,” she sighed out at the end of the day as the interrogation room door shut behind them for the last time.

John motioned a couple of MXs forward and, indicating the detainee beyond, instructed them: “Take this bozo back to his cell.” He then patted Val on the arm. “Hey, that’s two for the home team.”

Two of the detainees were now working for them. Not as informants or anything as sophisticated as that. No, not on this side of the Wall. Just to see who would bite and how quickly, John had dangled the possibility of a work detail in front of each guy’s nose. It was stupid to tip his hand and bring up the DRN virus. And no way was John letting on about the possibility of a secret weapon or high-grade tech stashed away on his turf somewhere.

“Good news, John!”

Both John and Val winced away from the exuberant exclamation Rudy hollered directly into their comms. Transmission courtesy of Dorian. Rubbing at the base of his ear, John made a mental note to discuss Dorian’s tendency to over-share. Yeah, this wasn’t exactly exposure in the cruiser, but an enthusiastic Rudy equipped with a mic and free rein was an assault on the senses.

“What?” he barked back as Val managed a more subdued, “Whatcha got?”

“Vaughn’s cache!” the man crowed before Dorian took over and suggested in a mild tone that soothed John’s throbbing eardrum, “Meet us in the lab with a patrol.”

Easy enough to manage. Getting to the actual site of the squirreled away tech was another issue entirely.

“The access panel should be right here,” Rudy insisted, gesturing to a battered and dirty, but otherwise uninterrupted wall.

John bumped Dorian’s arm. “You detecting anything?”

“Yes. Forney?” The android stepped forward and, with their sonar-equipped hands pressed against the surface, the DRNs managed to map out the exact dimensions of the door underneath. Then they stepped back and John gestured the MXs forward.

Ever since the manhole cover that had saved Adachi’s team from discovery, MXs had came prepared for demolition work. It was loud, sure, but John had no interest in stealth. At this point, the more attention they drew, the better.

And speaking of better…

Rudy let loose a whistle that was just shy of a catcall as he browsed the doohickeys and thingamajigs crammed into the gloomy space. “Now this would fetch a pretty penny.”

Dorian crowded beside John and said very quietly, “Or produce two dozen functional XRNs. Easily.”

Well, damn. Jackpot.

John exchanged a look with Val. “Let’s set it up.”

And that was what they did. They had two detainees to hoodwink into drawing their buddies out into the open and there was no time like the present. Yup, if those idiots had been sent out to cause chaos in the hopes of generating an opening, then the last thing these assholes would want was to toddle home empty-handed.

Yeah, John was thinking of Trevor Janns and how it had always been part of Reinhardt’s plan for the guy to end up at the precinct. If something similar was going on here, then John could expect a similar result: a man on the inside with an attack swiftly following.

But it didn’t work out that way.

Thirty-six hours later -- a little under twelve hours before the current unit of army reservists were scheduled to rotate out, Dorian’s hand clamped onto his partner’s arm just as John was resignedly selecting an MRE that probably wouldn’t make him want to gag.

“What is it?” he asked, but Dorian was already answering: “Work Unit A is under attack.”

“Redirect the nearest patrols. Let’s go.”

They were suited up and out the door in less than three minutes -- a task that John could do half asleep and in the dark (and often had to) -- and moving speedily with reinforcements to the designated area. This particular tunnel cross section had been specifically selected for this exact confrontation. The men and women and DRNs overseeing the detainee knew to expect hostile activity.

What they hadn’t expected was what they got: a dead detainee.

“He went down first,” MacKenzie reported with no small amount of flummoxed frustration.

John took a look at the body and what appeared to be a pair of homemade crossbow bolts protruding from center mass. He concluded, “It was a hit.” Double-tapped in the chest. The next best thing when you just couldn’t get a clear head-shot lined up. “Casualties?”

“Some bruising. Three MXs are damaged, but operable.”

John sighed. “OK. How many detainees did we net?”

“None.”

“Say what--none?” John squawked.

MacKenzie shook his head. “They popped out of the tunnels and opened fire. Once Koch went down--” The DRN gestured to the corpse. “--they covered their retreat. Ran right over the approaching patrol.”

John asked Dorian, “Roll call all units.”

Dorian did and frowned. “Hub secure. All patrols accounted for.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” John grumbled and Dorian mused aloud, “If they were after the tech…”

John spun around and glared at the cache just meters away. Ripe for the picking. “We ought to be up to our necks in--”

In a war zone.

John exhaled, thinking hard: if the gangs weren’t keen to take advantage of the distraction in order to spearhead some sort of heist, then… “This killing was a message to the rest of the gang. Showing them what happens when you cooperate with us.” John sighed heavily. “They’re not after any of this stuff.” And not one shot had been directed at a DRN. Not even close.

But if neither the tech nor the androids were the target, then why had they collaborated with someone back in the city to engineer, smuggle, and unleash that virus?

The answer was obvious: _****they****_ hadn’t.

Every single recent threat, from Vaughn’s DRN to the hit on Jake Bellman to the DRN virus, traced back to the city: the media broadcasts on John’s involvement with arresting Vaughn, the assassin who’d posed as Meade and gone the extra mile to make it look like he’d disappeared over the Wall, the third DRN that had been slipped into the logistics shipment. The people in this Godforsaken hellhole hadn’t schemed all that up.

To Dorian, John concluded, “Someone else is targeting DRNs.” Someone still on the other side of the Wall.


	20. Cantina Pow Wow

The cantina was packed with troops counting down to departure time. Snatches of words. The thud and scuff of footsteps. The activity was as unending as ever.

Rudy looked like death warmed over. Val was one caffeine hit away from turning into a Fury of Greek legend. Dorian was stumped and John was starving for a salad. Of all things. Because living off of MREs for months on end could apparently drive even the most unappreciative of nutritious vegetables to crave something fresh for once.

So, yup. This little brainstorming meeting had perfect timing.

John stabbed at his nuked curry-and-rice. “ETA to the next convoy is six hours.” And John would need at least four hours of rack time before facing that chaos -- doing the meet-and-greet again with a whole new contingent of troops. At least Rudy and Val would be sticking around to make more headway on their respective assignments. John hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his old life until those two had shown up on his metaphorical doorstep.

Dorian’s chin lowered to his chest. “We need to address our action plan.”

“Right,” Val bit out and dived in: “Even if someone on this side of the Wall would benefit from the effects of the DRN virus, it’s clearly not a priority here.”

John stuck his fork into a spongy, rubberized portion of over-heated rice and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Are we still thinking this is a Plan B for the failed attempt on Bellman? I mean, what else is going on right now?”

Rudy suggested around a yawn, “There’s the upcoming city council vote…”

“Paul’s been looking into that,” Valerie confirmed. “There are plenty of people who would like Bellman to change his tune.”

“Which was why he wasn’t killed?” John mused. “Because a martyr--”

“--becomes a symbol for his cause, a rallying cry. A successful hit just brings more attention to his message.” Val predicted, “He’s more dangerous dead than alive.”

“But if he keeps on with his campaign for tearing down the Wall, that could change.”

Val rolled her shoulders. “I don’t see how we’re at that point yet -- it’s still early days and this effort could fail in a hundred different ways before we seriously consider reuniting the city -- but yes. It makes sense that, at this point, they want Bellman to back off and let the cause die out.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Rudy murmured, proving that he was way more tuned in than his reddened eyes and sagging shoulders would lead one to believe, “but one of the main selling points of Bellman’s proposal was that this operation gave the city a place to relocate DRNs.”

“Because it was dangerous over here,” Dorian agreed. “Too dangerous for civilian aid workers, but we haven’t had any fatal casualties, with the exception of Bob.”

Which had been unrelated to interacting with the locals.

“Yeah,” John sighed gustily. “If it’s safe enough to send over human teachers and medics, then it’s only a matter of time before the DRNs are rotated out.” Turning to Dorian, John stated the obvious: “Maybe somebody doesn’t want you guys to come back home.”

Dorian nodded once and tersely. His words clipped with anger: “The city council comes to mind.”

“They do, don’t they?” John agreed. “And I can think of one or two of those clowns that I’d love to watch you arrest for obstruction, but what’s the real issue here?” John not-asked because it was a question they all knew the answer to, and so was this one: “Why are DRNs a problem for them?”

“Sentience,” Val readily supplied with an air of vindication. “A complete constitutional overhaul. The issue of sentience, if proven, could lead to DRNs being granted individual rights.”

“And if that happens, who loses out?” John pushed. “D and I have already had the talk about how expensive maintenance and upgrades are. Most DRNs won’t be able to afford their own basic living expenses.”

Val nodded. “No government assistance would be set up in time.” One shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Or they could intentionally drag it out until it’s a moot point.”

John’s hand found its way to Dorian’s back. “Independence could end up being a slow death for DRNs. The council’s got to see that, right?”

Rudy shook his head. “A cruel gift, indeed -- individual rights hand-in-hand with poverty. Just another failed social experiment.” He slapped a palm down on the table with disgust.

“Yeah,” John muttered grimly. “So we can bet that the city council has a contingency plan even if the state court ruling prevents them from shutting all the DRNs off again.”

“What about alternative methods of making money?”

Rudy answered Val’s question: “There are considerable obstacles built in that prevent androids from engaging in illegal activities for monetary gain.”

Sure, but John didn’t buy that there wasn’t at least one loophole for them to exploit. After all, DRNs weren’t supposed to be able to run away from their owners, either, but that was exactly what Forney had done back in January. Which was why John had been keeping that particular DRN as far away from the comms station and other key operations as possible. “Fool me once” and all that.

Val asked, “How hard would it be to reprogram a DRN to commit crimes?”

Glancing from Val to John to Dorian, Rudy admitted, “I’m not sure even I could manage it. DRNs are not service bots.”

Wasn’t that the truth. Still, John was pretty sure that they could make an exception. If a life were at stake… hell, if John’s life were at stake, he was pretty sure Dorian could wiggle his way into a few felonies. Riding that train of thought, John could see why the entire DRN line had been decommissioned rather than fixed up. Androids were supposed to be even more indestructible than their human counterparts, and if they started going off half-cocked, tearing up the town to protect the people they’d bonded to then shit, yeah -- that was what you’d have: a shit storm.

Oh, Christ. Was that what this was all about? Did someone foresee the DRNs’ return and fear it enough to put together a pre-emptive strike?

Damn. So all their speculation about these recent attacks tracing back to InSyndicate, to gang territory and desirable resources, was moot? But OK, yeah, maybe it was reckless to completely dismiss the gangs as suspects. Still, stubbornly honing tunnel vision was just as stupid.

But hell, the jerkwads at city hall were probably too busy chasing after photo ops and kissing babies to whip up a conspiracy of this magnitude and complexity. Plus, why bother when they expected that -- one way or another -- DRNs would be gone for good in a few months’ time?

Clearly, something else was going on here:

Bellman was being warned away from continuing his crusade.

A DRN had targeted John out of revenge.

And now this: somebody might just be angling to make active DRNs yesterday’s news.

Was it possible that every single motive sprang out of the issue that Forney had brought to the city’s attention a couple of months ago? Could the same set of current events generate so many separate assaults by disparate and distinct perpetrators? All taking place within the span of a week?

What a fucking mess.

“John,” Dorian said ten minutes later, after John had tossed the remnants of his unpalatable MRE into the bin and bid Val and Rudy a good (if quick) sleep.

“Hm?” John was already three steps ahead, focused on the welcoming embrace of his mattress and a few hours of escape from the gut-churning possibilities surrounding them. He made it as far as opening the inner door of their apartment before Dorian’s hand tugged at his sweater sleeve.

“If the investigation is moving back to the city, I want to be there.”

That brought John to a halt. Woke him up, too. All the way. Because the virus wasn’t a clear threat to human lives, so the case would get bumped down to Cyber Crimes… where it would sit for weeks before anyone had the time to take more than a superficial glance at it. A lot could happen in the meantime and being forced to watch your own back for so long was exhausting. Even for DRNs.

The only way to make sure this situation got handled was to head back to the city and take care of it themselves. “Yeah. I know. I want to be there, too.”

“So let’s talk to Maldonado.”

John hesitated. Because he knew what that would mean, what kind of op she’d be authorizing. He could practically taste it.

“I want to be there to arrest the son of a bitch who did this,” Dorian fumed on a rumble, his determination undiminished despite the low-key delivery.

“D,” John began, “this guy had the resources to forge an addition to a military convoy shipment. If you come over the Wall, you’ll be giving him a free shot.”

“Yeah. I know, man. But I also know that you’ll be there to catch him when he tries to take it.”

OK, so the tang of horror on John’s tongue wasn’t all in his head. His instincts had been right on target. “I can’t use you as bait. Don’t ask me to.”

“I’m not asking, Detective Kennex. I’m positing a scenario that will quickly lead to the apprehension of a dangerous perpetrator. You’re not the only one of us who is a cop.”

Yeah. That last bit was true. And John was suddenly remembering why it was a bad idea for cops to date other cops. This right here. This was it. Because a civilian was allowed to argue emotionally against their lover painting a big, red bullseye on their own back. Argue and possibly win. But John wasn’t a civilian and, if their positions were reversed, he’d expect Dorian to have his back while he tried something borderline suicidal. After all, the ends justified the means. Right?

John sighed.

God damn it.


	21. Patrol

There was only one way John was going to be even moderately OK with Dorian going back over the Wall and no one was going to like it. Eh, well. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

So when Dorian prompted John to get out of bed -- a hand curling warmly around John’s shoulder -- John reached out and tugged, coaxing the android onto the mattress beside him. With a sigh, John spooned around the DRN’s form and nuzzled the back of his neck.

“I’m aware of the risks, John.”

Maybe even better than John was. “Yeah.”

“It’s a good opportunity.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

John nipped Dorian’s neck in retaliation, but didn’t grumble. His uncharacteristic silence prompted Dorian to squirm around until he could look at John over his shoulder. “What is it, man?”

“I need you to trust me, D.”

“For my sake?”

John shook his head. “For mine, too.”

“OK.”

OK. Just like that they were good. And it was time to go.

So John flipped off the thermal blanket and stood, but when Dorian moved toward the door, John reached out and tweaked his jacketed elbow. “D,” was all he said, but it was all he needed to say.

Dorian pivoted into his space and John slouched down for a thorough kiss. The kind of kiss he’d been too exhausted to manage after their pow wow with Rudy and Val and too pissed off to settle into right before bed.

He was desperate and it showed in his too-tight grip and messy breaths; the last thing John wanted was for that hardware-melting bug to take another shot at Dorian, but they had their entire team to think about and, damn it, they’d promised to do everything they could to catch the guy responsible for Bob’s death.

Well, Dorian had promised, but John hadn’t reneged it. So, they were in this together. As usual.

“It’ll be OK,” Dorian mumbled against John’s lips. “I’ve got Rudy’s counter program still running. If I get infected again.”

“Yeah. Good. Common sense looks good on you. Why don’t you give it a chance more often.”

Dorian hummed and beamed and massaged the nape of John’s neck just right. “Grumpy.”

“And proud of it. Don’t try to make me feel better, damn it,” John protested but didn’t try to shrug off the android’s precision grip. Morose and malcontent was a state of mind. Completely independent from the tension headache that Dorian was expertly easing away.

After a moment more of John pretending time had stopped and the world was accommodatingly standing still, Dorian cupped John’s scruffy jaw and placed a gentle peck upon his pouting lips. “Ready to give the troops a hand packing up?”

Exhaling heavily, John grouched, “Sometimes I hate you.”

“Because you love me.”

“Jesus. There’s no arguing with you.”

“You argue all the time, you just never win.”

John grinned in spite of himself. Head tilting, he teased, “That’s what you think.” And with one more hot kiss -- a sweep of tongue and nip of teeth -- he headed for the door.

The hub atrium was controlled chaos as MXs marched to and fro between their assigned units and charging stations. Soldiers checked their side arms, squabbled over who had grabbed the wrong helmet, and joked about catching up on the programs they’d missed while being stuck in this hole. 

With a quick glance into the DRN dorm, John found Forney and James helping Rudy defend his field lab from being bumped into or packed up for transport. Val was inside, too, going over the rifle Rudy had been assigned, making sure it was clean and ready to fire and not about to be collected by mistake and marched out of the hub.

“Don’t tell me,” John said by way of announcing himself. “You took Rudy to the shooting range on your second date.”

“Third,” she corrected with a gamine grin and John had to glance away on a chuckle. Dorian might want and even welcome the sight of John’s unexpected delight, but John still wasn’t keen on showing it off. Not even to an ally like Val.

The officer in charge spotted John and waved him over to say, “Convoy en route.”

“You heading out with this first group--” John nodded toward the assembled troops and MXs. “--to meet them?”

“That’s the plan. Send the rest along when all’s secure.”

“Copy that,” John said and then got the hell out of the way. It went like clockwork. There were no incoming DRNs to deal with and, this time around, John went over the manifest twice; everything was accounted for.

“You guys all set here?” John checked back in after the introductions had been made.

Rudy nodded. “I’m about to head to the DRN lab.”

“To track down the origin point of that virus?” John checked.

“Ah, no. I’ve done all I can with that. Time code and GPS.”

And any additional tracing wouldn’t be possible from this far underground on this side of the Wall. No Net access. And it wouldn’t be advisable back in the city. No warrant. A time and place would give them a starting point, but not necessarily a suspect. Too circumstantial.

Still.

“You gonna share with the rest of the class?” John needled.

Val’s brows drew together.

Rudy was oblivious. “Well, I could send the data to Dorian…”

“Do it.” To Val, John checked, “You’re updating Maldonado on this at scheduled check-in?”

“That’s the plan.”

Good. That gave him and D just under ten hours. “Great. First patrol rolls out in a few and we’re on it.” John indicated himself and Dorian with a careless gesture. “You good with holding the fort ‘til we get back?”

She nodded slowly. “Rudy and I will be here.”

With a pat to Dorian’s shoulder, John said, “Let’s move.”

“John,” Val called and he paused, hand sliding down Dorian’s back to rest at the base of the android’s spine. “Be careful. Both of you.”

He answered her warning with a grin. “You bet.”

Eight reservists, ten MXs, and four DRNs had gathered in the atrium. John let the commander take point, only speaking up to describe the type of communities they’d encounter on their route and to confirm that no hostile activity had been reported since their information had last been updated.

The doors creaked open on a metallic groan. John and Dorian stepped out into the murky tunnels. Turned away from the path to the DRN lab and settled in for a military sweep.

An uneventful hour into their trek, John found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with the team commander.

Now or never.

John said quietly, “This is where D and I take off.”

Before the man could do more than blink with shock and knee-jerk refusal, John added, “Gotta meet with an informant while patrol draws attention.”

“Alone?”

“Safest for everyone that way.”

A moment of pause and then the commander shook his head. “Negative. You left the hub with us, you’re coming back with us.”

“Hey, I’m not about to argue. But this has gotta get done, and you guys can’t come along. Give us eight hours. We’ll rendezvous at section 530b.”

“I’m required to report this.”

“We’re not going to stop you. Sven,” John called quietly and the DRN shifted closer. “You’ve got point in Dorian’s place until we get back.”

“Understood.”

Whether he did or not was debatable, but John was pretty sure Val had gotten it.

With a nod toward the east-bound juncture, John indicated it was time to break off and make their own way.

“John, what are we doing?” Dorian asked softly as they completed their third turn.

“We’re keeping our promise.”

Dorian froze. “John, the gunman who targeted Jake Bellman may be--”

“Hey.” John was well aware that the son of a bitch could be lining him up in his cross hairs right this second. Could be, but it was unlikely. No way would he have known that John and Dorian would be taking these exact tunnels. John sure as hell hadn’t told a soul, so there was no leak to worry about. No mole. No hacker. And unless the asshole was psychic, then John was as safe as houses. Brick ones.

He challenged Dorian: “You want the bastard who endangered our team or not?” 

“I want him.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Dorian didn’t complain about the lack of backup. Yeah, there could still be a hit man lurking in these tunnels, waiting for a chance to take John out but, it was more likely that they were heading for recently shifted or reclaimed gang territory and homemade grenades. Despite months of paramilitary presence, this side of the Wall was still dangerous. But given that a virus-crafting sicko was hunkered down somewhere in the city, it wasn’t altogether clear anymore which side of the Wall was the least lawless.

John thought of Bob’s last moments: riotous laughter and wide-eyed panic and hardware-melting terror.

The twisted piece of crap who’d engineered that virus was at the top of John’s short list.

An old access corridor that led to an abandoned subway platform.

Then a set of crumbling concrete steps.

Sunshine and abandoned streets.

John had to squint even through the UV lenses of his tactical mask. The last time he’d breathed fresh air had been back in January. Now, the scent of pollen and budding leaves was in the air. Winter was long gone.

_****See, I promised you we’d see daylight again,****_ he didn’t tease Dorian. They weren’t here officially. Weren’t here for a picnic under the cherry blossoms, either. Hell, they weren’t even supposed to be up here at all. So John kept a lid on it and aimed their steps in the direction of the Chocolate Factory.


	22. Chocolate Factory

Watch Tower Commander Charles Cocolle was on-duty. As luck would have it.

Unfortunately, John and Dorian had caught him in a less than congenial mood.

“No, I’m not authorizing your little field trip, Kennex! And where the hell is your patrol? Unless you’ve got them in your pocket, you’ve got some explaining to do.”

John bit back a growl. “They’re patrolling. Doing their jobs. Which is what I’d like to get on with, sir.”

“The risks you took crossing those streets without backup is -- frankly -- sickeningly irresponsible.”

Pointing furiously toward the gleaming city beyond the watch tower’s meeting room window, John hissed, “Someone out there is attacking my team. If I don’t deal with it, I could lose everyone.”

That made an impact. Cocolle paused. “Your team. The DRNs?”

“Yeah. And, respectfully, sir? I don’t give a shit for their official status right now. People or machines, they’re my _****team****_ and I’m going to look out for them.” John gritted out, “Because nobody else is gonna do it.”

Cocolle leaned back against the waist-high ops station behind him. He didn’t argue that Delta Division would assign someone to the case soon. He didn’t speculate on the military’s response to someone smuggling androids right under their nose. He knew that, without the blessing of the state court judges, the well-being of DRNs was not a high priority. It would be easier to deactivate the entire lot of them and be done with it once and for all.

Over John’s cold, dead body.

Cocolle sighed. “I haven’t gotten confirmation of any of this from Maldonado.”

“I haven’t made any attempt to keep her in the dark,” John craftily replied.

A long, hard stare that John met without flinching. “When is she expecting you to report in?”

“Twenty hundred hours.”

“I’m still not authorizing your travel.” But from the man’s tone, he wasn’t going to detain John, either.

“Works for me.” John herded Dorian out of the room and toward the elevator, then turned both of them toward the emergency ladder. True, the elevator would be faster and they were definitely on a tight schedule, but the fewer people to see them, the better. John was hoping to keep their presence under the radar for as long as possible. And not just to save time, although that was a concern because as sure as the sparkle in Val’s perfect smile, she’d be tattling on them soon. If she hadn’t already. Yeah, she knew he and D weren’t on some humdrum patrol. Well, _****knew****_ was a strong word, because unless he and Dorian failed to make it to the rendezvous in time she wouldn’t have proof that they’d bugged out. Not unless she radioed the patrol leader and asked point-blank. So maybe Maldonado didn’t know John and Dorian were in the middle of a little R&R: recon and rescue. And if Cocolle wasn’t signing any paperwork on it, then all the better.

The patrol team had seen John and Dorian break protocol in the tunnels. Two watch tower guards had responded to John’s hail. Cocolle hadn’t given either permission or blessing. But at some point, John was going to have to go on record. He was just hoping to put it off until he could get either some usable information in exchange or some distance from the department’s eagle eyes.

“What next, John?” Dorian asked when they reached the base of the cramped tower chute. The atrium was just beyond the hatch and then the long tunnel to the nearest precinct after that. Followed by the security checkpoint that John hadn’t been given the green light to pass.

Things could get dicey.

“Next, we call in a favor. We going to run into anybody in the lobby out there?”

“No. All clear.”

Dorian opened the hatch and shrugged through the narrow opening. John had to huff and contort a bit, but he managed to keep from falling on his ass. A veritable victory. The elation lasted only until they entered the concrete underpass and the blast door swung shut behind them.

Dorian didn’t ask how they were going to get past the security check without anyone noticing. Which was just as well because John was certain that somebody would notice. But he had a plan. Of sorts. It wouldn’t do much to get John out of the hot water he was already up to his unmentionables in, but it would hopefully delay the fallout until he and Dorian could get results. And some justice for their team.

With every step, John funneled more and more determination into seeing this through. Consequences be damned.

At the corridor’s opposite end, he faced off with the sealed door before leaning over to punch the intercom button.

“Yes?”

John’s lips curled up into a smirk. The on-duty security officer clearly hadn’t been expecting anyone. “Detective John Kennex of Delta Division. I need to speak with Commander Audrey Thompson, U.S. Naval Special Operations Forces. It’s urgent.”

“Uh, hold on.”

John stepped back and crossed his arms. Now all they could do was wait.

“This wasn’t how I imagined it,” Dorian murmured. “Our return trip.”

“Yeah.” John sighed. They probably wouldn’t even have time to hit a noodle bar. God, how John ached to go home, back to his smartbed and lakeside view. Lapping waves and the scent of his usual soap and detergent and, best of all, miles of Dorian’s synthetic skin beneath John’s hands amid rumpled sheets.

But if John was a person of interest to anyone, his apartment would be the first place they’d tag with surveillance. It just wasn’t going to happen.

Assuming they even made it past the precinct checkpoint.

Just in case they didn’t, John reached for his lover’s neck. Palmed the android’s nape and gave a gentle squeeze.

There were video cameras, so he couldn’t dare more. Which just served to reignite the flame of Pissed Off Fury in his gut.

“Whatever happens,” Dorian continued, “thank you. For doing this.”

“We’re partners,” John insisted quietly. Resolute. “Nobody gets away with hurting our team.”

A soft smile curved the DRN’s lips. “You’d make a good captain.”

Somehow, John didn’t bark a laugh at the ceiling. The echo would have been deafening in the unforgivingly enclosed space. “Never gonna happen,” he insisted.

Dorian didn’t look convinced, but that was fine. Dorian was allowed to have his own opinions. Harebrained and bizarre as they often were.

An obnoxiously loud buzz sliced through the moment and John jabbed the comm button. “Yeah?”

“Attache to Commander Thompson wants to know the purpose of your call, detective.”

“Attache?” John checked.

“Ah, Commander Thompson isn’t available at the moment.”

Yeah, that figured. Because John’s luck was never perfect. He’d been lucky that they’d made it through Cocolle’s watch tower without serious problems. This? This was a speed bump. A piddly little speed bump. Nothing more.

“Delta Division and SEAL joint operation in January of this year. Have the attache contact someone who knows what the hell I’m talking about. Tell them there’s been a development and the clock is ticking.”

“Just a minute.”

John consulted his watch, and started timing him. Just for shits and giggles.

Dorian huffed at John’s antics. Rolled his eyes. “You could just ask me to keep track.”

“Some things are more satisfying if you do them yourself.”

Here and now, case in point.

“Assuming we do manage to locate the architect of the virus, we can’t collar him, man.”

“Yeah, well.”

Dorian smiled at John’s grumbling. “Really? You’d let Detective Paul have all the credit.”

“Hey,” John objected with a playful grin, “we’re single-handedly rehabilitating the wackos on the other side of the Wall. I’m good with sharing a little glory.”

“Hah. I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Smart ass.

It was a very, very long minute later (more like twenty minutes later) when the buzzer next ricocheted against the concrete walls. This time, it was followed not by the click of the intercom channel opening, but the gritty rumble of a bolt sliding free of its lock.

Access granted.

Dorian swung the door open and John led the way, crossing the threshold to face an unfamiliar man in military uniform. A half dozen armed tactical officers stood at the ready and John made sure to keep his hands up, palms open.

“John Kennex?”

“That’s me. This is my DRN partner.” John waited for SWAT to back down before offering his hand. “And you are, sir?”

“Captain Michael Burke. Commander Thompson’s commanding officer.”

Wow. Not just an office grunt or attache. “Thanks for taking the time.”

“Happy to do it if it concerns the well-being of American troops.”

“Amen to that.” John glanced at the security officer who was gawping at them from inside his bulletproof booth. “Is there somewhere private we can take this discussion?”

“My office isn’t far. I’ll sign you through.”

John and Dorian stood aside as the captain vouched for them and then they followed docilely out into the parking garage where a sedan was waiting. A young servicewoman sat behind the wheel.

John and Dorian slid into the backseat, shifting this way and that to rearrange bulky tactical gear. Their weapons had been checked at the precinct’s armory, but John had insisted on keeping their bulletproof vests. Sure, it might make them a little conspicuous, but at this point, John doubted that a little extra attention would matter much.

The car ride was short. Both John and Dorian spent it absorbing the sight of the city streets. Damn but it had been a long time. John hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sight of crosswalks and leafy trees until that’s what was staring back at him.

Plus, there was one more welcome sight at the Special Operations office: Konechny did a double take when he glanced up from his computer screen and nudged his chin upward in greeting. John nodded back and then shook his head; it really was a small world sometimes.

“I assume you’re here about the breach in security at our logistics office,” Burke remarked as soon as they found themselves sequestered in a comfortably neutral conference room.

John agreed: “The threat has been contained -- for the moment. I need to make sure whoever did this isn’t given a second chance.”

“May I ask the nature of the threat?” When John narrowed his eyes, Burke admitted, “Captain Maldonado wasn’t able to provide many details.”

Really. John doubted that Val had been stingy with her updates. Sandra probably had a better grasp of the situation than John did. But, here John was being asked to give specifics. Because Burke wanted confirmation that John had been read-in? Or because he suspected Maldonado of holding something back?

Actually, that last one was a possibility. Especially if Sandra had anticipated this moment. Maybe she’d intentionally given John a bargaining chip. Something he could offer in exchange for having someone capable watch his back in her place.

But. None of that altered the course John had already set. “Are you familiar with the joint mission that took place in January?”

“Yes. I read the team’s reports.” His gaze shifted toward Dorian. “Adachi and Thompson both cited DRN-0167 for exemplary service.”

Dorian summoned a smile. “It was an honor to serve my country alongside them.”

God. The effort that must have cost Dorian to push past his loathing of military protocol… damn.

Clearing his throat, John said, “That service is what is under threat, and Dorian isn’t the only DRN stationed on-site. Soldiers and MXs both rely heavily on my team to keep them safe. I don’t have to explain the domino effect this could have if the DRNs aren’t able to do their jobs.”

“No, you don’t. What do you need from us to plug this?”

John fought -- and mostly won -- against a toothy grin. “I need the person in charge of our logistics.”

Burke smiled, understated and sly. “He’s in the brig. I’ll set up an interview.”


	23. Interrogation

“DC,” the wilted man muttered at the interrogation room tabletop. “The guy’s called DC. That’s all I know. I swear.”

It was almost too easy getting a confession. It hadn’t taken much, just a short introduction:

“I’m Detective John Kennex. I take it you’ve heard of me? And my work. On the other side of the Wall.” He’d thrown in a bit of a growl for effect. That had gotten him a visible gulp. But when John had tilted his head toward Dorian, oh man. That had gotten the award-winning reaction.

“And this is one of the DRNs sent over there,” John had continued, leaning in very, very close as Dorian had loomed, silent and completely focused on the perpetrator. “Do you have any idea what these androids are capable of? Bending metal with their bare hands. Caving in a human skull with a single punch. And the stowaway you let on board the last shipment… oh, he’s extra special.” John had smirked. “How much do you wanna bet he’s standing behind you -- right -- now?”

A fucking whimper. Jesus.

_ ** **And the Oscar goes to… (drum roll, please)…** ** _

John glared with arms braced over the table at the distressed serviceman. He didn’t look to Dorian. Didn’t have to. In the months spent interrogating hardened gang members on the other side of the Wall, they’d developed rock solid technique. Like granite. And whaddaya know, it looked like it worked on ensigns, too. Like a charm.

“The guy’s name or nickname or whatever is DC.”

Beyond the suspect’s shoulder, Dorian shifted. The man flinched and John snarled, “Today’s your lucky day, Ensign Harlow Granty. That’s a name I’ve heard before.”

The logistics officer let out a long breath, which John gleefully cut short.

Pointing a finger in the man’s face, he added, “You just better pray that he knows yours.”

Shaking his head, the man insisted, a thread of panic straining his already stressed voice: “I had no idea that DRN was supposed to be any different than the rest that got shipped over. It was just another bot. You think I’d put the lives of my fellow soldiers at risk just for a quick buck? Medical supplies! Food! That’s all I was adding to the manifests until this.”

Dorian lowered his mouth to the man’s ear. “We don’t believe you.”

This was John’s cue to glower like he Goddamn meant it.

This young man had lived through the hell of boot camp, so he managed not to wet himself. But it was a near thing.

“Yeah, yeah, OK. There was one other DRN. A couple of months back. But it was in bad shape.” He shook his head. “Didn’t make any sense for someone across the Wall to want it. What could they possibly do with some bot that had half its hardware missing?”

John’s gaze met Dorian’s. “Plenty,” John snarled. He slapped a hand down on the table, bringing the built-in screen to life. “Everything -- every detail -- about that shipment and this last one.”

The ensign didn’t ask, “Or else what?” He got started typing.

John continued to stare hard at the man. Dorian hovered. The silence was oppressive and Ensign Granty had to stop more than once to take a calming breath.

But before his report was completed, the door opened and a military police officer entered, an MX in tow.

“Commander Burke would like a word.”

John and Dorian obliged him.

“You know his contact? This ‘DC’ person?” Burke checked. John glanced through the two-way mirror in the neighboring observation room. Granty was still typing. The MX was practically breathing down his neck. Huh. Sometimes that lack of manners programming did come in handy. Would wonders never cease.

John nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“You need backup?”

No, but John and Dorian did need some wheels. And that probably wasn’t going to be offered on a silver platter, no servicemen attached. “Can we borrow Konechny?”

As luck would have it, they could.

“Oh, man. I seriously owe you guys for getting me outta the office,” Konechny crowed once they were all buckled in and ready to hit the road. “I’ve been going stir-crazy!”

“Our pleasure,” Dorian responded from the backseat.

“I owe you guys a beer, er, I dunno--” Konechny backtracked in his excited ramble. “--a beer for Detective Kennex and, uh, what would be a beer-equivalent for you, man?”

John, who was trying not to chuckle too obviously from the shotgun seat, caught Dorian’s smirk out of the corner of his eye.

“Chenille socks.”

“No shit?” Konechny gaped in the rear view mirror.

“No shit.”

John couldn’t stop the laugh. Didn’t even bother to try. But he did point Konechny’s gaze back to the road and told him to take the next right.

A series of side streets and meandering turns got them to Chinatown. There wasn’t much point in trying to avoid drone flyovers, but John would be happy if he could keep his face and Dorian’s off of traffic cam footage.

“So, who we going to see?” Konechny finally thought to ask.

John corrected, “Dorian and I are going to see an informant. You are going to be all you can be in the car.”

“Aw, man. Just--”

Holding up a hand, John cut off the guy’s on-coming complaints. “This isn’t the final stop.”

“Well, all right then.” He rotated his right shoulder and Dorian asked, “How much longer before you’re cleared to resume active duty?”

“Two of what will surely be the longest weeks of my life. And, you know, I made it through Jump School, so that’s saying something.”

John had no doubt. “Pull over here.” And when Konechny obeyed, John added, “Do not move.”

“Hey, hold up! How long you think you’re gonna be?”

“Fifteen minutes tops. D,” John called, nodding toward the passenger door. “Let’s go.”

Dorian followed as John strode across the sidewalk and ducked into a grimy alley. Heavy machinery hummed and thumped and hammered from inside the dilapidated warehouses that crowded this shabby neighborhood.

“It never ceases to amaze me how you know all the best parts of the city, man,” Dorian heckled softly.

John huffed. “Hey. I know how to show my partner a good time.”

“We’re not armed, John.”

Yeah, John hadn’t needed the reminder. “Won’t be an issue, D.”

He turned a corner and slid into a shadowy nook that even the midday sun couldn’t reach and slid open a graffiti-caked metal panel with a grunt. Behind it was a solid, steel door with a camera lens set where a peephole would be.

John glanced at the intercom button and then ignored it, pounding his fist right on the door.

_ ** **Bang-bang-bang!** ** _

John waited ten seconds. No response.

_ ** **Bang-bang-bang!** ** _

Waited ten more seconds. Then he said very loudly, “Open up or I’m really gonna make a ruckus out here!”

John waited five seconds, then lifted his fist for another round of eardrum-ringing knocks--

A soft click. A scrape. The rapid ticking of a dial spinning. And then the door cracked open on a quiet drag of metal chain.

John beamed Dorian’s way. Dorian replied with a look of severe reservation, but didn’t try to hold John back from squeezing himself over the threshold.

“Hey!” John called out into the tangle of robotics parts that hung from the ceiling and spilled over shelves onto the floor. “I love what you’ve done with the place.”

“Sit on it and spin, Kennex!”

Dorian blinked at the familiar voice and John summoned his best asshole grin as DiCarlo whirred into view on an amped up scooter.

Arms wide, John asked with all the innocence left in this day and age (which admittedly wasn’t much), “Is that any way to welcome an old friend?”

“No, that’s what I say to a pest that keeps coming back for crumbs. Man, I thought you were stationed on the other side of the Wall!”

“That why you shipped an unapproved DRN my way.” John paused for effect. “DC?”

DiCarlo reared back. “What the hell. I didn’t ship nothing! I just made some introductions.”

“Before or after you screwed with the android’s software?”

The man held up his hands. Both were squeaky clean, which meant DiCarlo wasn’t puttering around with a little spring cleaning. Wasn’t even up to his elbows in assembly or mechanical maintenance. John and Dorian had probably caught him the middle of some delicate work.

“No. Nuh-uh. I didn’t lay one finger on the package. Hell, I didn’t even know what was inside!”

“But you had a pretty good idea,” John challenged, waving a hand around the smorgasbord of robot bits.

DiCarlo sighed. “What the hell do you want, Kennex?”

John’s lips twitched. Oh yeah, DiCarlo was in the middle of something important, all right, and he wanted his guests gone asap. He crooned, “An introduction.”

“And ruin my reputation?”

Reputation? Yeah. It was sad but true: middlemen who could assist with smuggling goods past the Wall were a dime a dozen in the city. And robotics nerds with expensive exo-suit hobbies needed a lucrative day job. One nasty rumor about handing a customer over to the cops could put DiCarlo out of business.

_ ** **Bye-bye, sweet-as-pie.** ** _

DiCarlo hissed, at his wits’ end: “I cannot _****believe****_ you, man.”

“Give me the name, and I’ll come up with another explanation for how I got it.”

“Di’you leave your brain on the other side of the Wall?”

John leaned back and scanned the workshop, lips mushed together in a considering moue. Reaching out to tap at a dangling robotic arm, John mused, “Would you rather I take a stroll around? Maybe come up with some ‘creative’ uses for some of your gizmos here?”

The glare that remark earned him was fun. It’d been a while since he’d gotten one of those from anyone besides Dorian. “You are a pain in the ass.” Shaking his head, DiCarlo gave up a name on a growl.

One name.

A name that John and Dorian knew. Quite well, in fact.

Son of a bitch.


	24. Drive-by

“John,” Dorian called. There was no echo in the tiny, dim alley outside of DiCarlo’s HQ. Just the muffled rhythm of factory works at various distances and John’s thrumming, rushing pulse as blood pounded in his ears. “John, we can’t just go and arrest him.”

_****Why the hell not?**** _John burned to ask. He _****burned.****_

But, no. No, he knew why not, God damn it. He and Dorian weren’t even supposed to be in the city right now. Never mind that the GPS coordinates that Rudy had forward to Dorian matched up with the perp’s known place of business. Their jurisdiction was on the other side of the God forsaken Wall.

“It makes sense, though,” John snarled. “It makes perfect Goddamn sense.” Shaking his head at his own blind stupidity, John shifted closer to his partner and accused, “You remember what I said about there being a slippery slope?”

Dorian didn’t nod. Of course he remembered. Back when Councilman Billings had been attacked and they’d been exploring the android connection. Back when John had been looking for a link to Shaw’s IRCs.

Dorian’s hand rubbed up John’s arm to grip his shoulder. “Who do we call to see this through for us?”

Blowing out a hot breath, John’s head dropped. One hand on his own hip; the other found its way to Dorian’s. “Damn it. I promised you we’d get him.”

“And we will.”

John looked up and into his lover’s wry grin.

“We just won’t be the ones to snap on the cuffs. I can live with that.”

Yeah, yeah. Because what was really important here was that Dorian _****live.****_ And John had endangered him enough for one day. Not that it hadn’t been for a worthy cause. And besides, Dorian had insisted to the point of probably never forgiving John if he’d been left out of all the fun, but still.

It was time to pack it in. Hand off the baton. Get back to work.

_ ** **Duty calls.** ** _

With a nod, John patted Dorian’s hip. Turned to head back to Konechny and the waiting car--

The sound of an engine idling closer slid into the alley from the opposite street. John glanced over and squinted as a van rolled by. The words Mid City Floral scrolled past.

Dorian paused. “I believe that was Jeannie Hartman.”

“Here? Now?” John sputtered. Like hell that was a coincidence. He checked his watch. Their fifteen minutes were almost up, but there was no way he wasn’t checking this out. No way. “C’mon.”

They jogged down to where they’d seen the van, dodging broken crates and piles of scrap metal left out to rust. At the corner, Dorian put a hand out and John relented, ceding point. All the DRN needed was a glance to confirm, “The van is the same one she used to make the hospital delivery in January. But I’m detecting two heat signatures.”

When Dorian’s chin jerked and brow beetled, John demanded, “What?”

“The figures are consistent with Jeannie Hartman and…” He looked John in the eye. “Michael Costa.”

John coughed a laugh. “Seriously.”

“Yeah, man.”

With a roll of his chin and shoulders, John approached the street. “This I gotta see to believe.”

The van was executing a U-turn at the intersection ahead and John was happy to wait for it prowl over rather than chase after it. Jeannie even remembered to use the winker as she pulled over and parallel parked.

The window rolled down and the sliding door growled open. Yup, that sure as hell looked like Jeannie behind the wheel and Costa hunkered down in back amid a small forest of bouquets and gift baskets.

“Two questions,” John said in answer to their delighted smiles. Holding up an index finger, he asked, _**“When**_ the hell did you two team up, and _**how**_ the hell are you in the neighborhood right now?”

Jeannie’s hands stirred on the wheel and John blinked at the sparkle of a modest diamond solitaire on her left ring finger. “We bumped into each other at the precinct. We both went to talk to you. It must have been right after you were reassigned.”

Costa patted his jacket pocket and answered John’s second question: “Got a message on my phone. Told us to be here.”

Dorian held out a hand. “May we see it?”

Obliging, Costa pulled his phone out and passed it over. Jeannie turned in the driver’s seat and placed her hand on the man’s shoulder. The odds of that ring having come from Costa went through the roof.

John angled himself to peer over Dorian’s shoulder and scan the short message on the screen. There was an address which corresponded to an ironworks factory in the middle of the block followed by three familiar numbers: 494.

“Four-nine-four,” John grumped. “This is still a thing?”

“For those of us active in the movement,” Costa answered and Jeannie added, “Still trending on SNS.”

Damn. Most hashtags had a half-life proportional to celebrity gossip. If Jeannie and Costa were to be believed, then someone was making damn sure that the issue remained at the forefront of people’s minds.

“Who sent this?” Dorian asked and John remembered the fact that Dorian wasn’t connected to any databases or media broadcasts. Hadn’t been since January.

“Nobody knows,” Costa admitted.

John blinked. “And you just wandered over this way for the fun of it?”

Jeannie shrugged. “Whoever it is has never put any of us in danger, and they seem to know exactly where we need to be at exactly the right time.”

“Yeah?” John mused, not really listening. He was a little preoccupied with the implication that someone was watching, monitoring, and coordinating. Someone with an agenda. Someone who had been following John and Dorian.

Shit.

“Can we give you and Dorian a lift, Detective?” Costa asked.

Dorian didn’t move. Probably for the same reason that John’s feet were glued to the pavement. “Uh, no. Thanks,” John said and glanced toward Dorian, who nodded minutely. Right. OK, then. “But there’s something else you guys can do for us.” He tapped out a name and a short message before handing the phone back to Costa. “See that this finds its way to Delta Division after nine p.m. tonight?”

“Consider it done,” Costa agreed.

“Are you sure we can’t give you a lift?” Jeannie checked.

John looked to Dorian. The DRN’s chin was tucked low and brows scrunched with the weight of his thoughts. Thoughts that were probably thundering through John’s head, too, alongside the strong suspicion that neither John nor Dorian would be making that rendezvous with the patrol at section 530b this evening.

“Yeah,” John rasped, his heart pounding and stomach hallowing with dread: he and Dorian were on someone’s radar. The chances of them managing to get back over the Wall without being waylaid were pretty much nil. Sure, they could climb in the van and make a run for it. Try to get past the Wall on their own. Like fugitives and outlaws. They could run. They could hide. But for how long?

No, if this was the end of the line, then it was time to face the music.

Dorian said, “Thank you both for everything you’ve done, but we’ll be OK.”

Judging by the warm smile curving the DRN’s lips, he really honestly believed that.

But John wasn’t buy it.

As the van pulled away, John whispered, “D?”

“If we run now, the last three months were for nothing, John.”

Yeah. That was what John was afraid of.


	25. Mister Popular

John had been right to be wary. Pessimism paid off way too often to be discounted out of hand and here was the proof: Richard Paul and six MXs were waiting for them at the base of Special Operations.

“Ensign Konechny,” the guard manning the gate droned, “you may proceed, but your passengers are not allowed beyond this point.”

Surprise, surprise.

John said as he unbuckled his seat belt, “We’ll get that beer some other time.”

“Count on it. Take care, man. Dorian, you, too.”

John resisted the urge to watch Konechny drive into the yard. Instead, he summoned an impatient look for Paul. “Well? What do you want? You’re a little early for the Easter Egg Hunt.”

Paul shook his head, arms akimbo. “You are a miserable son of a bitch, Kennex.”

“This is what popularity does for you.”

“Yeah. Sure. I’ll avoid it at all costs.”

“You’ve got a decent head start on that. Good going.”

“Shut up and get in the car,” Paul ordered, jerking his head toward the cruiser parked along the shoulder. Five police bikes bracketed the vehicle. Like a fucking parade.

“Top of the line escort,” John observed in his tried-and-true asshole voice. “Who’s rolling out the red carpet?”

“What. Like you can’t guess.”

_****Humor me.****_ But before John could spit out those two words, Paul snapped, “The captain, of course. Who else would give a crap?”

Dorian opened the rear passenger door and climbed in. John managed to smirk and roll his eyes before capitulating. Anything to distract himself from the way his palms were sweating and fear was fluttering on the back of his tongue. If Paul saw through his mask of obnoxious superiority, he didn’t let on.

Captain Maldonado on the other hand… Hell, all it took was one arched brow and a pointed look and John felt chastised.

But, no. Damn it, no! John had made the call to come back and he was gonna damn well stand by it.

“Is there a reason you didn’t let Paul have the honor of tossing us both back over the Wall?”

Letting out a long breath, she glanced at the clock display. Crossed arms scrunching and wrinkling up her navy suit jacket, she said, “You are damn lucky Paul got to you before the warrants were signed.”

“What warrants!” John sputtered and Dorian asked, “For our arrest, Captain?”

Eyes narrowing, she told them, “City council wants to talk to you. Both of you.”

“What’s the rush?”

“John. They issued the subpoena weeks ago. The only reason I didn’t tell you was because you weren’t in the city and I made it clear that wasn’t going to interrupt your mission by calling you back just so you could answer their questions. Questions that reading your reports would have addressed.”

No way would the council go to all that trouble for a mundane briefing. No, no, no. The questions they wanted to ask were gonna be a lot more explosive than that. And they were keeping them under wraps so that nobody stole their thunder.

Fuck.

John tiredly rolled his head back on his shoulders and informed the ceiling: “This might have been good to know a little sooner.” Jesus. First Val and that damned assassin that had flubbed the Bellman hit and now Sandra. John was starting to think his paranoia was justified and friends were for chumps.

“Well, John, I didn’t expect you to haul ass back here on a whim--”

“It wasn’t a whim!”

“--but somebody sure as hell did. It’s a good thing I got the alert first. Council was on lunch recess.”

Right. Otherwise, John and Dorian would be in handcuffs, locked up in detainment cells. Huh. “I guess it really was our lucky day.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” She shook her head and pushed off from the edge of her desk, pacing around toward her chair. “I told you not to give them an excuse.”

Yup, so she had. “What happens now?”

“Now, you’re both getting cleaned up. City council has cleared the afternoon. Just for you.”

Well now, didn’t John feel special.

“And before you ask, no, I don’t have one of your father’s suits on hand,” she snarked.

“Pfft,” John dismissed with a wave. “Like I’d bother with a jacket and tie for those bozos.”

She gave him a pointed look. “You did for the grand jury.”

John’s gaze sharpened. Yeah, he’d suffered a fucking suit. For Dorian’s sake. “Am I going to be defending the same person this time?”

“Just be prepared for anything.” The captain’s gaze slid toward Dorian and gentled until it was Sandra and not their boss who was looking out at them. “Be careful.”

Careful. Right. That was totally at the forefront of John’s mind when Dorian opened the door to council chambers and gestured for John to precede him. Off to the side, a court reporter was poised with a tablet in hand and glasses perched on his left ear. The kind of glasses that that IA shit Reynolds had used for interrogating John, only this one would track the movement of the reporter’s eye as he glanced at whomever was speaking. The words he tapped out in shorthand would automatically be assigned to the corresponding jerkwad windbag.

All twelve members of the the council were seated up on their fancy fucking dais. Eager to glare and lord themselves over the rest of the city. John resisted the urge to glance at his watch. It was just now two p.m. Chamber doors closed at six. Jesus, this was guaranteed to be the longest day of John Kennex’s life.

And he’d thought things were bad enough outside what with poster-toting protesters marching back and forth in front of the state legislature building across the street. Enlarged photos of MX officers with clown costumes slapped on and slogans like “Machines eXpendable” and “Make’em eXtinct.”

John would have guffawed loud enough to echo to the coast and back… except for the part about all this undermining an already taxed police force.

But the MXs weren’t the activists’ only target. They wanted rights for IRCs: “She would say NO if she only knew the word.” A sharp dig indeed at how tightly controlled the programming was for many androids. So many terms IRCs and WDAs and so on just weren’t conscious of. John thought of Vanessa, remembered how she’s smiled vacantly at John when he’d asked, “Where were you made? Who made you?”

It was sickening. The power people assumed. The sheer arrogance of it.

Little wonder the vast majority of the marching picketers focused on DRNs. Though they were the underdogs, they were the clear favorite: “Desegregate Right Now!” and “Deactivation -- Reasons are Nonsense!” From a distance and through the filter of traffic, John had thought he’d heard a rousing chant of “Don’t kill our friends! DRNs!”

What a God damn mess.

“Detective John Kennex, please take a seat,” Councilman Hart instructed from the speaker’s seat, pointing toward the low table and even lower chairs. Hell. Somewhere, a kindergarten class was being forced to color pictures on the floor.

There were three chairs and John automatically pulled out one for Dorian before taking the middle for himself. Billings’ eyes tracked the gesture and John refused to accept that he might have made a tactical error already.

“Please state your name for the record.”

“Detective John Kennex.”

“Current assignment?”

“Base of operations on the other side of the Wall.”

“And what brings you to the city?”

“In pursuit of suspect.”

John knocked down each question with concise responses. Prompt. Skimpy on the details because, damn it, he wanted to know where the hell these assholes were going so he could figure out just how pissed off to get. So far, not one question had been directed at Dorian. Not until--

“DRN-0167,” Councilman Hart blurted.

“Present, sir.”

“How long have you been assigned to work with Detective John Kennex?”

“Since April of 2048.”

The man peered over the edge of his trendy spectacles at John’s partner. “And he has worked with you exclusively?”

“To my knowledge, yes.”

“Excellent.” A tiny twitch of the man’s mouth. John fought against fisting his hands, bracing for the attack that was surely coming. And when it did come, it wasn’t what John was expecting, although he should have. He fucking should have known because the council already had contingency plans for getting rid of DRNs whether or not they were granted legal personhood by the state legislature. John should have known Dorian wouldn’t be their target. Not today. Not yet.

Hart drawled, “The council requests that you access your memory files of the time spent working alongside Detective John Kennex and describe for us each instance he deviated from police protocol.”

Fuck. Oh, fuck. No wonder Sandra had told them to be careful. For the next four hours, John was going to be raked over the coals by his own partner who couldn’t _****not****_ answer a direct order from a member of city council. God damn it all to--

Dorian smiled gently. John could see the familiar curve of his lips out of the corner of his eye as the DRN leaned forward and said very clearly, “Ladies and gentlemen of the council, I respectfully decline.”


	26. Testimony

Decline. Decline? Could a DRN even do that? Holy shit.

John focused on looking bored as his heart galloped around his Adam’s apple and his lungs did the shimmy in his chest.

“I beg your pardon, DRN-0167.”

“No worries, man,” Dorian replied, cheerfully dismissing the councilman’s gaffe, and if John hadn’t been so busy trying not to freak out, he would have laughed.

Hart blinked. “You are required to respond to a direct order, DRN-0167.”

“First of all, may I point out that I have never filed a report on Detective Kennex for breaking police protocol.”

“And second?” Hart prompted after a moment of silence.

“Second, I refuse to play any role whatsoever in your efforts to tarnish the reputation of one of the city’s finest police detectives.”

Silence. Pure and absolute silence. Even the court reporter’s fingers stilled as words abandoned all twelve silver-tongued politicians.

And then Hart rallied. “Detective Kennex! Order your DRN partner to comply with the council’s request.”

This. This right here was the moment of truth. Yeah, John could bark for Dorian to obey. And if Dorian did, then John would demonstrate -- on public record -- that DRNs were machines. Input generates output. But if Dorian refused John’s command, oh shit. That was even worse because androids weren’t supposed to stand up to the humans who were in charge of them. It was guaranteed deactivation. A permanent one.

So John did the only thing he could do. Smiling, he took a page from Dorian’s book and drawled, “Ladies and gentlemen of the council, I respectfully decline.”

And now John looked guilty. Hella guilty of everything from assault to extortion to dumping bodies under the bridge, but that was John’s problem. And oh boy what a problem. The focus was back on him now. John wondered just how long he could keep it there. Forever? Was that doable? Or at least until the state court sorted their shit out?

Billings reached for something on the table in front of him and passed a familiar-looking, blue celo over to Hart. “This is a court order for your compliance. DRN-0167, your testimony is mandatory.”

“Sir, I would rather be deac--”

“Can I see that?” John blurted, desperate to keep Dorian from finishing that sentence. An MX stepped away from its nook beside the raised platform and ferried the thing over. “Thanks,” John mumbled at the MX, already distracted by the words on the page. It was indeed an official request compelling Dorian to speak truthfully of the abuses he’d witnessed from Detective John Kennex. He passed it over and sat back. Shifting and wiggling a bit because if his career was about to go up in flames, well, he’d rather be comfortable for the show.

“You gotta give the people what they want,” John murmured quietly when Dorian made no move to acknowledge the document’s existence.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hart continued. “We’d prefer it if an MX would do the honors.”

John gaped as Councilman Hart addressed the android standing off to the side. “MX Unit 622, interface with DRN-0167.”

As the MX moved toward Dorian, John allowed himself a glimpse of his lover’s face. His lover’s stone cold and marble-etched fury.

Oh, God. This was so much worse than just John going down. Dorian would be dragged down with him. Why oh why hadn’t the state court ruled already on the issue of DRNs? One piddly decision. Yes or no. Either way, John doubted that hearing the results would do either he or Dorian any good at this point. It’d be too little too late.

Yeah, John had gambled and now this was him losing big time. And it was Dorian losing everything.

Son of a bitch.

Still. John refused to show fear. Hell yeah, he was scared -- so terrified his belly churned with it because this was how it was going to happen. He’d always wondered and now he knew. This was how he’d lose Dorian for good and John could barely recall the last time they’d kissed. Just, no, not like this, _****not yet not yet not--****_

The MX reached out a glowing index finger toward the back of Dorian’s skull and Dorian’s hand shot out, clamping down on the other android’s wrist. A warning that promised absolute destruction flashing in the DRN’s luminous eyes.

“DRN-0167,” the MX stated, cold and factual, “I must follow orders and access your primary data port.”

Dorian’s hand squeezed tighter for a moment… and then fell away. He turned to face forward, expressionless. John felt his cheek twitch at the soft _****click!**** _of connection. Red light strobed over the MX’s cheek. Its pale eyes stared, stared, stared unblinking as it read through every moment that John and Dorian had shared.

And the bitch of it was that John still didn’t regret a single minute. Of any of it. What he regretted was the slimy mass of anguish that was blocking up his throat. Esophagus turned into jelly. Vocal chords strained to the point of snapping. He should say something. If this was his last chance to tell Dorian, then he should--

“Unit 622,” Hart spoke, voice ringing out like a bell and John wanted to vomit. “Begin with April of 2048. List any action Detective Kennex committed in breach of police protocol.”

“April 2048,” the thing parroted back and John’s jaw clenched.

Breathe. Breathe, damn it.

The MX stated without further preamble: “No unreported breaches of police protocol found.”

Somehow, John didn’t blink. Didn’t scowl. Didn’t drop his own jaw and bleat, _****What the hell?****_

No, Billings did all that for him. More of less. “That’s impossible!” the man snapped.

Hart put out a hand and patiently requested that the MX scan DRN-0167’s files from May. June. July.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

OK, now John was just plain weirded out. He braced himself for December because surely -- _****surely****_ \-- their first kiss, their first time rolling around on John’s smartbed, lost in sensation and each other, surely…!

“No additional breaches of police protocol found,” the MX insisted.

“Well, then please list the instances that _****were****_ reported!” Billings demanded, well on his way to being irate.

“May 2048, discharge of firearm in a public place while neither in danger nor in pursuit of suspect, damage to police property. Attending administrator, Captain Sandra Maldonado. May 2048, unapproved ride-along. June 2048, car accident. Cause given: human error. Damage to city construction equipment and police cruiser. July 2048, refusal to evacuate building. Hostage situation resolved. Three civilian casualties unrelated to Detective Kennex’s actions--”

And on and on and on it went. Every single complaint that Captain Maldonado had been forced to file was read aloud until the MX reached today’s date:

“April 2049, unapproved travel over the Wall. This is the end of the report.”

Yeah, yeah it was. And John still had no idea what to say. The baffled and consternated members of city council didn’t either.

A woman cleared her throat. “I call for a recess. Resume at eight a.m. tomorrow.”

The motion was carried and passed.

John glanced at his watch. It was almost three-thirty in the afternoon and both he and Dorian were free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to think that Dorian is using his DRN loophole (the one that allows him to break protocol) in order to protect John (who could be viewed as the victim) here. Kind of like how Forney broke protocol to save Philip (in canon). I think Dorian manages to do something similar here when he refuses to comply with the council’s order.


	27. Cool Logic

The last person John expected to see was waiting for them in the city hall atrium.

“Detective Kennex! Dorian!” The man waved. Beamed. What the hell?

Frowning, John steered Dorian over with a hand on the android’s elbow. _****Neutral body language,****_ John reminded himself because it had been a while since he’d been the focus of this many cameras. “Jake Bellman,” he greeted, offering his hand.

“Good to see you both again.”

“Where is your protection detail?” Dorian asked, practically reading John’s mind.

The club-owner-turned-lobbyist laughed. “Hard at work, I’m sure -- bringing the car around and traffic is a nightmare. Do you have any plans for this afternoon? Can I tempt you with a late lunch or a cup of coffee?”

Oh, God. Coffee sounded like Heaven. The penthouse suite of heavens, actually. “Someplace quiet,” John negotiated and Jake gestured them outdoors. The wide steps of the building gleamed in the intermittent afternoon sunlight. John grinned; this here was the upside to the city council’s rush to pull together their little inquisition: no time to notify the media. Well, OK, the lack of reporters was _****one****_ good thing. The other was that the geniuses in charge of city policy hadn’t been able to come up with a Plan B for vilifying John.

Jake trotted down to the sidewalk and a sleek car pulled up. An MX sat behind the wheel. Ah, the protection detail.

“Take us back to the house, MX,” Jake requested after everyone had settled in and buckled up.

“The coffee’s on the house?” John joked, but it came out lame. Damn, but he was tired.

Jake, nice guy that he was, laughed anyway. “You bet. All-you-can-drink.”

“Two cups,” Dorian interjected before John could get hearts in his eyes. “After months of that freeze dried instant crap, real coffee will kill you, man.”

“Spoil sport,” he grumbled and silently resolved to find a couple of gallon-sized flower vases to use as mugs. Hey, if he was only allowed two, then he’d better make them count.

“I imagine you’d like to get back as soon as possible,” Jake said about thirty minutes later as he put the kettle on. “Unless you’re curious as to what they’re going to come up with next to throw at you.”

“Not particularly.”

Dorian blinked, brows twitching. “How do you know what their goal was?”

“Friends of the family are supporters of Councilman Hart. I hear things.”

“Like death threats?” John heard himself say before he could think better of it. He blamed the imminent promise of caffeine.

“Hm,” Jake hummed, pulling a French press down from the cupboard. “One person’s death threat is another person’s I-love-you.” He looked up and grinned ruefully. “Be glad you don’t come from a Chrome family, Detective.”

John stiffened. “Your own family ordered the hit?”

With a shrug, Jake elaborated: “Lost sheep have to be herded back into the fold, and it’s the responsibility of the closest family members to put forth a visible effort.”

The tinkle of coffee beans -- actual coffee beans -- being poured into the mill was like music to John’s ears. Aw shit, this brew was gonna be good.

Jake continued, “But now that they’ve discharged their duty to the Chrome community, they’re free to show their support. Rally ‘round and stand with me.”

Dorian summarized, “Your fellow Chromes pressured your family into intimidating you and, when that failed, your family was able to express encouragement for your venture.”

“I know how it sounds.”

Heartless. That was what it sounded like, fucking heartless.

“But they did what they had to do and they chose to do it in a manner that caused neither physical, emotional, nor financial harm.” With a wry look, Jake pointed out, “If they’d waited too long and someone else had picked up the gauntlet, I’d probably be kicking back in an urn right now.”

So the fact that the Bellmans had hired someone to shoot at one of their sons in public was a sign of affection and deep family ties? “That’s messed up,” John opined.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is. You were never in any danger, though.”

“How reassuring,” John snarked because Dorian looked furious and if John didn’t say something, then Dorian would. And Dorian’s comment would be worse. Way worse.

“I apologize that your department won’t be able to close this case. I won’t be pressing charges even if the gunman is arrested.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

Jake chuckled. “Feel free to use the phone if you need to contact anyone.”

When he thumbed the coffee mill on with the push of a button, John took him up on the offer, escaping the grinding whirr of the machine and shaking his head on a shudder at the twisted logic that was behind way too much of the city’s infrastructure.

He stomped into the dining room, Dorian shadowing, but pulled up when he noticed the MX now standing at the picture window.

Well. John was never going to get a better chance than this. Probably. Not within the next twenty-four hours, at least.

“MX, hey.” John approached as the unit looked up. It wasn’t the same one that had supposedly accessed Dorian’s memory files in council chambers, but whatever one knew, so did the rest. Right? “This afternoon at city hall -- what was that?”

“Unit 622 followed instructions perfectly, Detective Kennex. He established a connection with DRN-0167’s data port and reported all breaches in police protocol that were detected.”

Befuddled, John just shook his head. “No, that’s--”

Dorian bumped John’s arm. “MX 622 was never explicitly instructed to examine my memory files, so he didn’t. That was why he didn’t find anything for the council to use against you.”

“Well,” John blustered because imminent caffeine damn it, “what the hell did the MX access?”

Dorian smirked. “Maintenance logs.”

John huffed, charmed in spite of himself. Who’d have thought that the unimaginably pedantic and painfully literal nature of the MX system would ever work in their favor? Still. He told the MX, “You’re capable of inferring what they wanted.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t. Why?”

The MX turned its unblinking eyes on Dorian. “DRNs are an old, retired system. Appropriately canceled. They are not suited to assist police officers.”

In addition to being assholes, they were also broken records. Good to know. “Hey, pal. I’m not enjoying this spiel any more than I did the first time around.” And everyone knew what had happened to that busybody.

The MX assigned to Bellman’s security blithely continued, “MXs are intended to assist in police procedures. This is the purpose for which the MX system and units were designed and created. If the DRNs are destroyed before their true purpose is found, the citizens of this city will continue to question the competency of MXs.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question -- why help me?”

“You have demonstrated commitment toward helping the DRNs.”

Could it really be that simple? “You guys just want the DRNs to stop stepping on your toes, huh?”

A quick streak of red light zipped over the MX’s cheek as it processed John’s choice of idiom. John didn’t wait for the thing to spit out a provoking response.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’ll see what you can do, John?” Dorian echoed as they finally found the house comms setup -- a replica of a fashionably antique telephone -- in the adjoining den and converged on it.

“My hands are kind of tied until the state ruling is passed down, D.”

“And if--”

John held up a hand. “Don’t. Just, don’t jinx it.”

Dorian’s lips curled as John scooped up the phone and placed a call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, in my headcanon, the Chrome community is extremely insular (well, OK, maybe that’s canon) so some pretty twisted practices take place. Like, Jake Bellman is causing trouble. The Bellmans “created” Jake with intent and forethought and bioengineering, so the ruckus he’s causing is their duty to deal with. If a family wanted to wash their hands of a fellow family member, they’d arrange for some kind of accident to get rid of them. However, Jake’s parents love him, so they stage this super public threat. In the wake of this, it is totally socially acceptable for his parents to break ties with Hart and pull together with Jake. Admirable, even. And Jake -- if anything bad happens to him now -- then it’ll look even more suspicious and Jake’s efforts will be even more memorable… which is exactly what people like Hart and Billings don’t want.
> 
> Yes, the MXs step up to bat for John. I know, I know, this is John Kennex, the guy who has a nasty habit of destroying MXs. MXs don’t hold a grudge against him for this because (1) they can’t feel emotions, and (2) the MX units are not individuals. The system itself is the most important thing and the loss of a unit (or units) is acceptable collateral in the course of providing support for police officers. What the MXs do not want is to be taken off-line. According to MX logic, this would harm the people they’ve been programmed to protect (e.g., police officers and law-abiding civilians).
> 
> There have been some really interesting fics started (all the ones I’ve found are works-in-progress) about MXs taking over the city “for the greater good,” but no, I don’t believe that will happen here. This is as far as the MX logic is capable of going along that road. So, they want John to help find a suitable place for DRNs (and John seems to be one of the humans that are in a position to act on this) that doesn’t undermine public trust in MXs. I hope that makes sense -- it was all jumbled up in my head for months before I could articulate it even this clearly.


	28. Nico

John made a mental note to find out who had taught Jake Bellman how to be an accommodating host; the sandwiches that the man had whipped up were ambrosia in his mouth.

Fresh and tasty alongside gloriously glorious just-brewed coffee -- John sighed with contentment as Dorian and Jake nattered on about contingencies and such. What if the state court ruled in favor of the DRNs’ right to exist? What if additional freedoms were granted? What if. What if. What if. Hashing it out was all well and good if it made anybody feel more confident about what was coming, but John preferred not to waste his energy. He’d deal with it when there was something to deal with. In the meantime, he focused on enjoying his creature comforts, including the ergonomic support of a superiorly designed bar stool. It was the little things, yeah?

He ate his piled-high conglomeration of meat, cheese, vegetables, and whole grain bread. Savored his two cups of coffee, even snuck in an additional half cup when Dorian was up to his perfect nose in expounding on a top priority. John didn’t believe for one second that Dorian hadn’t noticed, but he’d gambled that Dorian would let it slide rather than interrupt his own momentum to deliver a scolding that John would ignore anyway.

So that was how John scored two and a half cups of coffee. Bhoo yeah.

“Can I offer you a ride anywhere?” Jake asked as he dismissed John’s offer to wash up with a wave.

“As a matter of fact--” John checked his watch. “--that’d be great.”

Bellman’s MX chauffeured them to Precinct 12. “If I have any news, I’ll pass it along through Detective Stahl,” he was saying and John was listening, yes, but he was also a little busy scowling at the hunched form of a skinny guy in a dark hoodie just lounging against the building. His chin lifted and John glimpsed the hint of a smirk and smart ass stare.

“Sounds good. Hold up -- stop the car.” John was already opening the door as the vehicle braked to a halt. “Gimme a minute.”

Dorian followed him the half dozen paces his tingling sense of recognition directed him.

And, yup. Score one for John’s instincts. Determined to be just as much of an irritating asshole, John drawled, “Nico Galasso. What shady shenanigans bring you here?”

The hacker chuckled like he thought John was cute. The little shit. “You do, Detective. You and your DRN.” He nodded once to Dorian in greeting. “You guys didn’t accept the ride I sent your way.”

“The ride,” John repeated, not-asking for confirmation.

“Yup. Jeannie and Michael.”

“Why them?”

Nico shrugged. “That’s a no-brainer. You’ve helped them in the past. Figured they’d be happy to return the favor.”

Rather than let Nico start speculating on whether or not Jeannie and Costa might have been helpful in, say, delivering a message to Delta Division on John’s behalf, John badgered, “The hell are you doing coordinating shit? Using the 494 tag to hide behind while you slink around. What are you after this time?”

“The same thing I’ve always wanted: to make a difference.”

“Uh-huh. And if the city’s authority figures end up with egg on their face, all the better?”

Nico beamed. “You know me so well.”

“A blessing and a curse. Mostly curse. Explain how the hell you’re involved in this android rights mess.”

“Emily Wilson. She got word to me last fall, asked me to keep an eye on the DRNs. Yours especially.” Nico looked to Dorian and said, “She’s really glad that you saved her life.”

Given the fact that Emily Wilson had targeted everyone that she’d judged responsible in her friend Aaron Kasden’s death, she would be in the Cubes for a long, long time. John almost made a comment about how much fun that was going to be for her but, hell, for a hacker of her skill and ingenuity, she’d probably see the lack of tech access as a challenge. Jesus. The warden didn’t stand a chance.

“So when 494 went missing,” Nico continued, “I put the word out.”

“Great,” John huffed. He was this fucking close to punching the kid’s cheeky grin inside out. “You get a two-for: noble warrior fighting the good fight for the sake of DRNs and obnoxious rabble-rouser siccing the people on their own government.”

“Yeah, well. I do love my work.”

Would he still love it so much if he knew that this whole situation had resulted in a casualty? John had lost a team member because of this hullabaloo getting people all worked up. Oh man, John itched to slap some cuffs on this kid, but despite the fury he was feeling, John was rational enough to know that Nico’s actions hadn’t produced the virus. Provoking didn’t equate to criminal negligence.

Though, if John ever became king of the universe, that would change real quick.

Jabbing a finger in the hacker’s direction, John snarled, “Just watch it. The minute someone gets so much as a broken nail following your instructions, I’ll toss your hide in a concrete room without even a hole to piss in.”

“Understood. Have a safe trip, Detective.” With that, he pushed off of the wall and slouched onto the sidewalk. Out for an evening stroll. Self-entitled, cocky little punk.

A touch on John’s elbow: Dorian tugging on his sleeve. “It’s getting late, John.”

Yeah. Yeah, it was. So he let Jake deliver them to the basement entrance of the precinct. He and Dorian collected their surrendered weapons from the armory. The security guard buzzed them through and into the tunnel leading to the Chocolate Factory. Cocolle pointed them toward a section of the Wall, where a pair of harnesses had been conveniently overlooked.

Repelling, the sequel. Oh, goodie.

As Dorian helped John into the gear, a tiny grin played at the android’s lips.

“Oh, just spit it out,” John huffed.

Dorian threaded the rope through his own harness before securing the D-ring that would connect John’s gear to his. “I couldn’t really appreciate this the first time.” Dorian tugged John close and leered. “It’s kinda hot.”

“Hot,” John objected, shaking his head even as he wound his arms around the DRN’s shoulders. “You think this is hot. Unbelievable.”

“You do, too,” the android argued. “Your heart rate’s spiking, man.”

“Because we’re about to be one little rope away from getting pancaked.”

“Hah!” Yeah, of course Dorian didn’t believe him. “You keep telling yourself that.” The android shifted, brushing up against John’s crotch and the burgeoning interest that was taking up a little too much room in his pants. “Yourself might even listen one of these days.”

Asshole. “Be careful what you wish for, D.”

Delaying their descent, Dorian sobered and confessed, “I’d wish for you.”

And, OK. John could be charming. Sometimes. Like now.

He cradled Dorian’s jaw in his gloved hands and tilted their brows together. The tactical helmets and John’s visor kinda got in the way, but it was the effort that counted.

He told the DRN, “You’ve got me. And that’s not gonna change.”

Dorian’s arms tightened around him briefly, and then his hands were gathering up the rope and John was clutching himself closer as they leaned out over nothingness.

But how was this different from any other day when Dorian and John stepped out of the hub? How was this terrifying moment any different from waiting for legislation on the status of DRNs?

It really wasn’t. And just like now, John was confident that he and Dorian would land on their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In true Almost Human style, John breaks the rules and gets rewarded for it (or simply gets away with it). *headdesk* Like, honestly, I get so tired of American Hollywood endings sometimes. There are days when I just want some effing Greek tragedy and consequences. *sigh* But. OK, John isn't prosecuted or explicitly punished for coming over the Wall without permission (or any of the other rule bending/breaking he does) because I feel like it would majorly diverge from the tone of the TV show. And since there are so many wonderful things that I ADORE about the TV show, well, I just don't want to risk losing those elements.
> 
> I'm at the (somewhat cynical) point where I think it's Dorian's presence that actually keeps John in line. The fact that Dorian could be deactivated for breaking protocol in a major way is probably a large part of what reins in John's vigilante tendencies.


	29. Reporting In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter -- THE BIG REVEAL CHAPTER -- was originally published on November 9, 2019. But since I got zero feedback on it, I’m assuming no one could read it?? I mean, the creator of the DRN virus!!! The real reason a DRN tried to kill John!!! No response at all??? Before I got horribly demoralized and retreated into a cave forever, I figured I should try posting it again. Here’s hoping I’ll hear your voice this time around. (^_^)

They made it to the rendezvous point on time. John didn’t bother to bite back a smirk as he and Dorian fell into formation with the patrol and finished their assigned sweep of the tunnels. Val would be pissed. Or relieved. Or both.

“Have a good trek?” she asked too sweetly when he and D schlepped across the hub threshold.

“Very enlightening,” John answered, enjoying the expectant look she attempted to skewer him with. “Let’s pow wow. D,” he said, “can you ask the guys to meet us at the DRN lab?” It seemed fitting that the news be broken with Bob in attendance.

So off they went.

“Did you catch the son of a bitch?” Rudy demanded, looking up from whatever he was doing with tablets and a glowing cable connected to 789’s skull port.

“Hello to you, too,” John snarked back, rolling his eyes as he waved his DRN team members into the workroom. “How was your day? Mine was fine, thanks for asking.”

“John,” Dorian chided him.

“Someone’s a little amped up,” Val assessed. Whether she meant John or Rudy was unclear.

Dorian tattled: “You’ll have to forgive him. Too much coffee.”

“It was not too much coffee. Quit mothering me.”

“Two cups, John. I didn’t pull that number out of thin air. I am capable of calculating how much caffeine your system can handle.”

“I’ll handle you.”

Dorian’s shit-eating grin clued John in to the fact that he’d said those words out loud. Well. Fine. He wasn’t going to take them back. John crossed his arms and jerked his chin, inviting Dorian to come up with a neutral reply to **_**that.**_**

The DRN opened his mouth--

Val blurted, “John Kennex takes on Dorian. This I’ve got to see.”

“Hey,” John retorted. “You had a front row seat for last week’s show.” And he wasn’t about to start handing out backstage passes.

James pointedly cleared his throat. “Everyone’s here.”

Which meant it was time to report in. John gestured for Dorian to go ahead. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Determination firmed Dorian’s expression before he stated very clearly, “We have identified the author of the virus, which was created for financial gain. The perpetrator is a man by the name of Lorenzo Shaw. He owns a company that creates Intimate Relations Companions. Their client interface is based on the DRN system. Therefore, if DRNs are afforded legal rights, so too might his androids be.”

John shifted. With chin tucked to chest, he said, “Last I checked, slavery -- buying and selling people -- was still illegal.”

Val mused, “Shaw probably thought that getting rid of the DRNs would put a stop to all the questions being asked about their capacity for legally recognized personhood.”

“Take away the driving force,” Rudy added, “and momentum slows to a crawl. Without DRNs in the picture, there’d be little point in determining their rights.”

“So it was all about money.” Val shook her head, disgusted.

John shrugged. “There might be more to it. He used to provide sexbots for that Albanian consortium. Who knows what other sketchy lowlifes he’s doing business with. Going full-on black market…” He shook his head. “That’s a hole most never crawl out of.”

“Doesn’t change the facts,” Rudy objected, bristling at the suggestion that Shaw might have been simply trying to save his own skin. “What he did to Bob -- and what he intended to do to all of you…” He scanned the assembled DRNs with worried eyes.

John lifted a hand. “Hey, I’m all for throwing him in the Cubes and smashing the access panel to his cell.”

“Well. Good. Otherwise, you and I might have a problem.”

Rudy said it like he was ready to set up and throw down for at least ten rounds. God.

“Please tell us the son of a bitch is under arrest,” Sven begged and John sighed.

He shared a look with Dorian. The DRN explained, “We’ve handed off the case to a colleague we trust. He’ll make the right call.”

Yeah, Richard Paul might be a pompous little prick, but he was smart enough to connect the dots, get the appropriate warrants, and find a charge that would stick. They had Shaw over a barrel: they could arrest him now for endangering paramilitary operations. He could either take a plea deal or wait and try his luck with the state court ruling, because if the judges determined that DRNs were people in the eyes of the law, then Shaw could go down for one count of premeditated murder and two dozen counts of attempted murder.

Now that would be a court sentencing that John would show up to **_**and**_**wear a suit for. Gladly.

He was a little less enthusiastic about telling Valerie that her case was probably never going to be solved. Eh, on second thought, he’d just point her in Jake Bellman’s direction. He’d already practiced his little speech on John and Dorian, but John didn’t think Val was going to let him off as easily as they had. John almost felt sorry… that he wouldn’t be there to watch.

Turning back to the matter at hand, John focused on the tarp-covered form of the destroyed DRN. “Bob is going to get justice.” One way or another.

Goku looked at John. “Thanks, man.”

“We’re a team,” John deflected because hell no, he hadn’t breached protocol and bullied his way over the Wall for the sake of thanks. He’d done it because it had been the right thing -- the only thing -- to do. John protected his team. End of story.

And with that, everyone got back to work. Rudy reported that all the equipment in the lab was cleared for use. The one hundred and twenty-eight chargers would come in handy. John hoped the repair apparatus… not so much.

And then, because John was a chump, he told Val that Jake Bellman had, in all likelihood, been the sole target of the shooting.

“How can you be sure?” she challenged.

John shook his head on an aggravated sigh. “Because the Bellmans are Chromes. And I’m not.”

Her brows twitched and, God damn it, John could practically see it coming together for her. “Son of a...”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “Have fun reading them the riot act.”

“You’ve got that right.” She stormed out, jaw set and John wondered if he should feel sorry for Rudy. Probably not. Furious sex was damn hot.

“John,” Dorian said and he paused. They were the only ones left in the DRN lab. Well, aside from Bob and DRN Number 25. “I think there’s something you should know.”

“What is it?” John braced himself for a gag. Hell, after all the heavy revelations and stress of the past few days, the occasion practically called for it. “No, wait. I gotta--just, lemme go first?”

Dorian nodded and John sucked in a fortifying breath.

“I’m pregnant. The baby’s yours.”

For a moment, absolutely no reaction showed on the DRN’s face. And then he processed. His lips twitched and John beamed at the sound of an inelegant android snort.

“You’re a mess, John.”

“Yeah.” He smacked Dorian’s arm. The stupid joke had done its job: both of them were more relaxed now. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

And how true that was because if John hadn’t been such a complete disaster waiting to happen, then Dorian never would have been recommissioned to keep him from self-destructing.

“You’re mine,” Dorian agreed softly and then, turning, spoke toward DRN Number 25’s deactivated form: “And Nigel Vaughn was his.”

John blinked. “Yeah… he came after me because we put his creator away.”

“No, John. He came after **_**me,**_** because I helped put the most important person in his life away.” Reaching out, Dorian cupped the back of John’s arm, angled close, and breathed, “I’d taken Vaughn away from him, so he was going to take you away from me.”

“How--how can you know that? You can’t. You can’t be sure.” Because if Dorian was sure and if he did know it, then the implications were fucking horrifying.

“It makes sense,” Dorian insisted, “from a DRN’s point of view. The nudge that Vaughn gave his emotion regulators -- it’s capable of doing more than just endearing that first person to a DRN.”

“Damn it, Dorian--why. Why are you telling me this?” But John could hazard a guess and Dorian’s earnest expression didn’t leave a lot of room for alternatives.

“What the MX said -- about you championing for DRNs -- you should know what kind of beings you’re defending. What we’re capable of.”

God damn it, that was what John hadn’t wanted to think, let alone accept. But. He was too old to pretend it didn’t matter. He’d never turned a blind eye to any of Dorian’s other unsavory quirks and modes, and he wasn’t about to start now.

“John, I worry that our partnership -- it’s come to mean so much to me, and how I feel about you has been progressively deepening for the past year. Non stop.” Dorian swallowed. A completely unnecessary bodily function that told John just how affected the DRN was. “What if I’m at that point already? What if something happens to you, and I--”

“Shhh. Hush. Stop it.” John gathered himself closer to Dorian’s rigid form, pressing their chests together and winding his arms through whatever negative space he could find. “You were born to be human. I’m not going to fault you for doing the same thing I would.”

“But who will stop me? If, one day…?”

“You will. You’ll stop yourself, D, because you will know in your heart that I would never want you to endanger yourself like that. Never.” Dorian remained unmoved and John pushed past the phlegmy ache to plead, “A world without you in it -- that isn’t something I can fight for. It’s not worth fighting for.”

“John.” Dorian’s arms shifted, his hands settling in places where only a lover’s touch would be welcome: the back of John’s neck and the seam of his prosthetic leg.

Dorian angled his face up and John met those lips with his own in a sweet, soft kiss. Gentle and ephemeral. Just like the phenomenon that was both of them. Two beings who, together, made up one whole person. Pretty much. Almost human.

“I can’t do this without you,” John confessed, eyes squeezed shut and heart thudding like a sledge hammer in his chest. It made him furious, this single truth. He was already a cripple, but this -- **_**this**_** \-- made him useless. On the verge of being nothing. One loss away from becoming a waste of space.

And he **_**hated**_** it.

Dorian petted his scruffy cheek until John gave in, found a kernel of trust, and opened his eyes.

The DRN smiled. “We’re partners.”

Partners. Not just John and not just Dorian, but together -- **_**partners.**_** Indivisible.

OK, yeah. Yeah, John could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many, many reasons for why I wish the TV show had been allowed to continue, but here's one in particular: I would have liked to see John become a team player. A team captain, even. I mean, he played team sports in his school days so it's not a foreign concept, but he tends to set himself apart very easily.
> 
> Sure, we can blame the InSyndicate raid and the deaths of his friends and Anna's betrayal, and it makes sense that these things would leave a mark. It's understandable that John would distance himself from others. But in time, maybe he could've built up the courage to be a part of a team again. I really wanted to see that happen... so I had to write it.
> 
> Is John a 100% team player at this point? I mean, he goes over the Wall for the sake of his DRN team (and maybe also to assuage his drive not to fail in another leadership position like he did with the InSyndicate raid) and he takes Dorian with him (which endangers Dorian but Dorian is the only DRN with experience in law enforcement at this point -- Dorian identifies himself as a cop so that makes him a strong candidate for participating in this scheme) and, really, there's nothing to be gained in John bringing more DRNs along...
> 
> Eh, it's complicated. And John is, as always, a work in progress. But I like him that way. (^_^)


	30. An End and a Beginning

John had known that he’d regret getting all sappy and bent out of shape. Even as he’d leaned into Dorian’s solid weight in the DRN lab, he’d known. He’d snarled and strangled the tears back, so that was one plus. And if ever asked about the rest, he’d blame it on the coffee.

Coffee was devious. That was John’s story and he was sticking to it.

Yeah, what was one more to add to his imaginary library?

“Damn it, John. City council wants you back at eight a.m. tomorrow morning,” Sandra griped during his regular check-in.

“Yeah? Not sure I’m gonna be able to make it,” he drawled.

She sighed. Hard.

But this was why John hadn’t said goodbye, hadn’t swung by Delta Division, hadn’t called before arranging a “meeting” with Charles Cocolle. Sandra and Cocolle could both claim miscommunication for why John had slipped through the council’s fingers. And John had zero plans to accommodate future summons. At least not until everyone knew, one way or another, where DRNs stood in the grand scheme of things.

“I’ve got an op set up for tomorrow and a follow-through on last week’s the day after that. Assuming nobody starts shooting at each other down here. Maybe after that--”

“No, no. Just stay put, John.”

“Okie dokie.” John tried not to sound too victorious. “So what’s new on your side of the Wall? Anything of interest?”

“Well, Detective Paul received an anonymous tip regarding Lorenzo Shaw, but I doubt you’d be interested in that investigation.”

She was awful. Absolutely awful. “An investigation involving androids? Gee, I hope the guy takes a plea. Who knows what the state court’s going to decide. Could affect all androids. And prosecution of android-related crimes. Eventually.”

She chuckled. “Oh, John. You’re a terrible poker player.”

Only when it counted.

“Put Val on. I believe she and I have some travel arrangements to discuss.”

_****And a good time will be had by all,****_ John didn’t say, but the smirk he made zero effort to rein in.

Yeah, there were two full days between now and the next rotation of military personnel and John was planning to put Val and Rudy to work.

“What. Seriously?” Rudy squawked when John told him to button up in full tactical gear the next morning.

John rolled his shoulders and, deadpan as a cast iron skillet with a cleaver jutting up from the center of it, said, “Got us a report of gangs moving in on civilian turf. Be ready to move out in thirty.”

Of course, John promptly cornered Val and warned her not to let Rudy out of her sight. He also thought to check: “You replaced his ammo mags with blanks, right?”

She looked about twelve years old when she shook her head and rolled her eyes at the same time. Like a tweeny brat. Adorable. “For the love of--Rudy knows how to shoot, John. He’s a decent shot. I taught him.”

John held up his hands in surrender. So long as everyone wore their vests and helmets, all bases were covered.

It was a typical op: John and Dorian covering recon while the MXs and reservists stormed the ramshackle compound that had been a budding hydropower generator until patrols had reported aggressive activity in the vicinity. In fact, the very patrol that John and Dorian had bugged out on had filed the report. Now John and Dorian were standing by to keep as many civilians out of the line of fire as possible.

He sent Rudy and Val off to sweep the perimeter with a standard-sized patrol and double contingent of MXs. Dorian scanned the battered settlement for life signs and hazardous compounds. John gave the command to breach.

There were no irate relatives. No traumatized kids. Just a bunch of scruffy assholes with barely-healed, amateurish tattoos.

“How do you feel about showing Rudy the ropes?” John asked Val, nodding toward their detainment cells and interrogation room.

She had the scariest smile. Hands down. “Sounds fun.”

Yeah. Sure. It might even get Rudy to stop pouting over the fact that he hadn’t had a chance to brandish his assault rifle and strike fear into the heart of evildoers.

That night, as John collapsed onto his and Dorian’s bed, he laughed. “Val and Rudy are pretty perfect for each other, huh?” he murmured when Dorian poked his left knee in a silent demand for him to share the joke.

The DRN waited for John to settle his prosthetic leg on its charger before leaning in and returning fire: “They’re not the only ones.”

“You think?” John playfully doubted.

Dorian’s lips brushed against the corner of John’s crooked smile. “I know.”

Whether Dorian did or not, well. John didn’t heckle him over it. He was a little busy enjoying a practical demonstration.

The next day’s follow-up went off without a hitch. The agro facility that they’d taken back for the local residents was up and running peacefully. No dads with steel pipes wrapped in barbed wire. Abudi’s little girl came up to jabber at Jackie, who gently nudged her in Forney’s direction once he clocked the fact that she’d mistaken him for the DRN who had given her friend first aid for a sprained arm.

When John got back to the hub, he found Val packing up. “Rudy’s in the lab,” she explained and John figured he’d better tromp over there for any last instructions.

“Well,” Rudy said with an air of finality as soon as John and Dorian set foot in his domain. “The tech from Vaughn’s cache is cataloged and packed for transport. And the DRN lab is all set. Ready for use.”

John nodded. “Great. Thanks.”

“And DRN-789 is all tucked in and ready to head back. So’s Bob. I’ll take care of the chain of custody. Won’t let that Shaw slither his way out of a conviction.”

John thumped his shoulder. “Good man. What about our first uninvited guest?”

Rudy sighed in the android’s direction. “I think it’s best if he remains here for now. But not to worry -- I’ve deactivated him and encrypted the start-up procedure. No one’s going to be waking that fellow up by accident.”

John scowled.

Rudy rambled on, eager to reassure: “I’ve made copies of DRN 25’s altered programming and I’ll keep working on it when I can. See if I can bring him around -- if it might be possible to restore his emotional equilibrium. Just, I’ve made sure he’ll remain shut down in the meantime.” 

John wasn’t thrilled with Vaughn’s number one fan hanging around for the foreseeable future, but now was not the time to be explaining where the android had come from or why he wasn’t operational. Hell, Dorian had been damn lucky that the city council hadn’t taken a harder look at the recordings from Vaughn’s arrest last December. John clearly remembered words like “organic memories” and “android army” getting tossed around. Was it too much to hope that those parts of the recordings had been garbled or erased? Yeah, it probably was.

But it wasn’t like John was going to have to deal with it today.

Today, he focused on warning the detainees against causing further problems because MXs could make IDs in infrared and these tattooed yahoos had already used their free pass.

Then he and Dorian sat down in the cantina for a game of cards with Val and Rudy. The calm before the bi-weekly rotation of troops and supplies.

“I miss them already,” Dorian confided that night, his voice muffled against John’s arm and tank top in the dark.

John just nudged himself closer -- fighting the good fight against the memory foam -- to tug his lover closer, petting the DRN’s shoulders and back. He didn’t remind Dorian that this wasn’t goodbye forever. Because it might be. Pressing a kiss to the android’s brow, John agreed, “Yeah. Me, too.”

They saw Rudy and Val off, wishing them luck as they braved the dark tunnels and dusty streets on their return trip to civilization.

John added, “Well Val, you put the fear of God into a good number of these punks. And Rudy, we’re up and running for more DRNs, so… we’re all set, then.” John slapped Rudy’s armored shoulder. “Go get ‘em, Trooper.”

Farewells were always awkward for John, which was why he was treating this like the end of a long week: just a break between assignments. Dorian took it hard. Because he couldn’t fool himself the way John could.

“What do you say we schedule ourselves onto a patrol?” John suggested. “It’ll get your mind off of it.” And thus, it would get John’s mind off of it because the sight of that frown furrowing Dorian’s brow was wrecking his stoic resolve to play it cool.

The next day, they both did better. Threw themselves into the rhythm of patrol, report, evaluate, and -- if necessary -- plan and implement ops to take out gang strongholds.

John was sitting at a table in the cantina, surrounded by a dozen DRNs who were tossing ideas Goku’s way for his next mosaic masterpiece and, OK, yeah. If John tilted his head and squinted, he could almost believe that what these DRNs had here was a good thing. When it wasn’t a craptastic shitstorm of dodging bullets and ducking homemade weapons and identifying bodies.

He sighed. Out of sight under the table, Dorian’s knee bumped his thigh.

“Excuse me, Kennex,” a military-grade MX announced on approach. “There’s a message for you from Captain Maldonado.”

John checked his watch even as he was shifting to unpretzel himself from the long bench. It was early, not quite four p.m., but there was no point in asking an MX for details. “C’mon, D,” he muttered, but Dorian was already moving, anticipating being included.

John smiled. Yeah, he liked that. He wasn’t all that sure that he’d like what the captain had to say, so he was counting his blessings where he could.

“What’s up, Captain?” John asked, shoving the headset in place and huffing into the age-flattened cushion of the comms chair.

“John. Dorian. The state court has come back with a ruling.” She smiled and John sputtered. She wasn’t even beating around the bush to bully him out of his daily drudgery. Oh, shit. “DRNs have been legally classified as people. From this day forward. Including many basic rights human citizens enjoy -- the right to vote and own property -- as soon as they register at city hall.”

“Register?” John checked, holding up a hand as though the feeble gesture would somehow stop Dorian’s beaming grin. Hell, the DRN was practically glowing. And it was burning none of John’s paranoia away because: register. As in, put a bullseye on your own back? That kind of register?

“I’m sending the entire document.” A small alert flashed on the screen, indicating that a data file had just been received. “Look it over. Talk it over with your team. Everyone’s going to have some decisions to make.”

“You mean…” John began and then stalled.

Dorian put it into words first: “We can choose our livelihoods?”

“Yes. It’ll take time to sort out what with your on-going assignment over there, but,” she winked, “there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, gentlemen.”

John gawped.

“Given the circumstances, I think it’d be best if we kept our regularly scheduled check-in at 2000 hours tonight. Dorian can pass along any questions or concerns that the other DRNs have after they read through the court’s decision.”

With a nod, John swallowed. “Copy that. Talk soon.”

He reached over and disconnected the call. Sat back. Breathed.

“John.”

A hand on his shoulder had him looking up, but instead of seeing Dorian’s overjoyed expression, he found himself on the receiving end of a frown. It was an electric shock to his heart. “What--what is it? Did you already read the file? Something off? What’s it say?”

“John,” Dorian said again and John realized he was breathing fast and shallow. His palms were sweating.

“Sorry, I’m--sorry. This is…” He stopped. Started again. “This is huge.”

“Yeah, man. It is.”

And that was when it really hit him. This was everything John had ever wanted for Dorian: the right to a salary; the right to speak his mind; the right to both screw up and save the day without either risk of decommissioning or John having to accept praise on his behalf.

But the fight wasn’t over. The battlefield had changed, that’s all. And John wasn’t sure how much use he was going to be fighting this campaign. But.

But.

Dorian and the other DRNs didn’t need John to take on their enemies for them. What they needed from John was his support. Just that.

And with that realization, the oppressive weight lifted from John’s shoulders. Dissolved. And the emptiness left in its wake was absolutely terrifying. A thrill shivered through him and he shoved himself to his feet, throwing his arms around Dorian in a completely undignified display as he alternately guffawed with relief and hissed with dread, tears squeezing out of his eyes.

“Oh, God,” he gasped, voice reedy and thin, and let Dorian hold him upright. It took a minute, but John got himself under control.

He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face. Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to the DRN’s cheek, cupping the android’s jaw in the palm of his hand. “C’mon, D.”

“Where to?”

John replied to that eager query with a lopsided grin. “Among other things, to tell James to get his mail ready. That letter he wants to send is finally going out.”

The first of many changes soon to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is the end of "The Light at the End of the Tunnel(s)"! (^_^)
> 
> So, what did you like?  
What burning questions do you have still?  
Speculation is welcome and encouragement would be oh so very appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Almost Human fanfic news & updates can be found on my Kofi page -- https://ko-fi.com/manny -- where I blog and (occasionally) post shinies and (compulsively) caffeinate. If you are inclined to support my habit, you can do so here. (^_~)
> 
> It was wonderful of you to come along with me on this fic-venture! (^_^)


End file.
